


Go ahead, Prove it

by apocahipster



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex, Slow Burn, see beginning of chapter notes for content warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocahipster/pseuds/apocahipster
Summary: Just another story about Hanzo integrating into a team while working at Overwatch, and along the way he and McCree fall in love.





	1. Standards, Ego and Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo makes a friend or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the beginning of chapter notes in the following chapters for content warnings applicable. And if you notice something potentially sensitive, comment and I'll add it to the note. I like to CW a lot so everyone can have a good time.
> 
> CW: Underage drinking

“Word around these parts is that you’re a fairly decent shot, Mr Shimada,” came the southern drawl of Jesse McCree from behind Hanzo. The voice had not startled Hanzo, he had heard the man’s approach since the moment he, and his spurred boots, had entered the training range.  He slowly lowered Stormbow, easing the string’s tension against his trained fingers, careful to not shoot an arrow into his metal boot.

“I am not just a ‘fairly decent shot’,” Hanzo said, turning his attention to the cowboy. “I am the best.”

“If your clothes are anything to go by, you’re at least half decent,” McCree said with a laugh. Hanzo gave his exposed chest a brief glance, choosing not to show his appreciation of the pun externally. “So, you gonna show me what you can do?”

“You do not believe me?” Hanzo asked, his confidence making his words come out as a playful challenge.

“Oh I believe you’re good, but the best? Now, that’d be me.” The cowboy grinned at him, wide and accepting the test which Hanzo had offered. He hooked his thumbs, both real and metal, into his belt loops, shoulders back and chest puffed, like a male bird proudly showing off the best of its assets.

Hanzo turned back to the target and raised his bow, his muscle memory instantly performing the task which he had trained his body in for several decades now. It took him only a second to line up the shot, knock the arrow and fire. The indoor setting meant there was no wind to accommodate for, making for an extremely easy target which was only at medium range. The arrow struck bullseye.

“Hm, not bad,” McCree said, a friendly smile on his face.

“If you can somehow beat perfect, gunslinger, I would like to see it.  Your reputation must come from somewhere. Go ahead and prove it.”

Before Hanzo had even finished his sentence, McCree drew his gun and fired at a clean target, not pausing to aim or line the shot. The bullet hit the first ring above the bullseye. He shot again, hitting the ring below the bullseye, then left and then right. Finally, he paused and lined up for a brief moment, before hitting the centre. He turned to Hanzo and gave him a wink.

“Impressive,” Hanzo said. As McCree’s smirk grew wider Hanzo realised that he had suddenly been bestowed upon with a holy duty of the utmost importance. Keeping McCree’s ego in check. It was a responsibility he knew not to take lightly.

He raised his bow once more, aimed at his target and shot. The second arrowhead struck the first, dislodging it from the board and sending wooden splinters flying. Not quite the cinematic splitting in half, but theatrical enough.

“Okay Robin Hood, now you’re just showing off,” McCree said.

“And _that_ was not showing off?” Hanzo waved to McCree’s target.

McCree paused for a moment. “If I say, ‘no’ then that would be me further showing off… so… I’m gonna go with, yes. What about you, was that showing off, or just your regular everyday training?”

“That was showing off,” Hanzo admitted.

“Not just handsome, you’re talented and honest. Colour me officially impressed.”

It was an interesting move, Hanzo thought. Flirting. Upon reflection he would classify this as the first time he had had a full conversation with McCree. They had hardly interacted at all besides casual head-nodded greeting in the hallways. Since he had joined Overwatch three months ago, Hanzo had only been on two missions and neither had involved McCree. Genji had indicated that the cowboy was one of his closest and most trusted friends, and Hanzo had had his reservations about how Genji’s friends would react to his presence. Yet here McCree was, choosing not only to engage in conversation, but to hit on him.

“Coming from a man such as yourself, that means a lot,” Hanzo said, hoping his words sounded earnest.

He had joined Overwatch for many noble reasons. Mostly as a chance to redeem his actions, and to reconcile with his brother. After years of solitude and working alone, suddenly entering a life surrounded by so many colourful people was like throwing himself into an ocean during the storm and trying to swim for the first time. His whole life had changed with his decision to move to Gibraltar and to commit to Overwatch, but he was certain he had made the right decision. And if an attractive cowboy hitting on him was a part of this new life, Hanzo could see McCree being one of the colourful people who maybe would lend a hand getting back to shore.

* * *

 

The ocean breeze brought with it the smell of sea salt and… cigars? Hanzo opened his eyes, turning in his meditative sitting pose to spy McCree travelling along the rooftop walkway a short distance away. The cowboy slowly made his way over, carrying two cups of coffee and holding a lit cigar between his teeth.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked through lips trained to talk whilst holding a cigar in them.

“Feel free,” Hanzo said, facing the ocean once more.

“I brought coffee,” McCree said, placing a mug next to Hanzo as he sat down.

Hanzo looked at the mug. He hadn’t asked for coffee. He wasn’t certain he even wanted it. A cool breeze sent a shiver along his spine and he took the cup in his hands. As it warmed his palms he wondered why he never had brought a hot drink with him before. Tea was a better drink for meditation, and didn’t take too long to prepare. But perhaps he just liked to feel the cold. Sometimes he liked the shiver biting into his skin.

But he also like the warmth.

“I seen you up here a few times,” McCree said, taking the cigar from his mouth. “Figured its where I’d find you. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a while, both been pretty busy.”

“I was busy. And then I had too much time on my hands,” Hanzo explained. “Genji is away so I had to occupy myself. I finished a novel, for the first time in years.”

“Was it any good?”

“It was terrible,” Hanzo said. “I’m halfway through my second reading.”

McCree let out a soft laugh before he took a drag of his cigar. The smoke repulsed Hanzo, so he lifted his mug to his nose, trying to smell the strong scent of coffee instead.

“You don’t drink coffee?” McCree asked, watching how the archer simply held onto the mug.

“No.”

McCree took a sip from his own mug, and Hanzo wondered how smoking would affect the flavour. He couldn’t imagine it would be a favourable addition to the taste.

“But I could see myself starting,” Hanzo said.

“You know, I’m very versatile. Quite the skilled individual. If coffee ain’t to your liking I can make tea,” McCree said flicking some ash from his cigar off of the rooftop. “Black or green as long as it’s got a bag.”

“Impressive. But the coffee will suffice,” Hanzo said, finally taking a sip. “Although next time, perhaps less sugar.”

“Next time?”

“If you would not mind.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

* * *

 

Tracer talked twice as fast as anyone Hanzo had ever heard. He wondered if her brain ran as fast as her mouth could talk, or if she was simply so good natured that most of what she said didn’t need too much thought before being spoken.

Most people didn’t interact personally with Hanzo. He kept to himself and he kept quiet. And they were fine with that. In a way he preferred being ignored rather than having everyone walk on eggshells around the elephant in the room. But unfortunately, that meant he had few people for company that were not his own brother.

“So, when it’s on silent, I’m always like, ‘where did I leave it, or _when_ did I leave it?’” Tracer said, giggling and waving the phone in question around. Hanzo paused for a moment, losing himself in thoughts of time travel. If she left the phone somewhere yesterday, it would still be where she left it so how was that a problem…

“And then Emily called me and it alerted everyone to my position, so it has to be on silent anyway. There’s no win,” she said.

“I know,” Mei agreed. “I accidently froze mine the other week. It was completely irretrievable, I need to buy a new one.”

“If most of the casualties in this group were tech related that certainly would make my job less stressful,” Angela said.

Hanzo felt that itch, the one of extreme introspection telling him to contribute. To say something, _anything_. There was no way they would warm up to him if he was as stoic and cold as they believed.  Unfortunately, all he could think of was whether an injury to his brother counted as a medical one or a tech related one. His morbid thought train seemed out of place amongst this crowd.

“I suppose buying a new phone is cheaper than surgery,” Mei said.

Hanzo was socially adept. He was capable at being suave, and casual, and street-smart. He had been trained his whole life to analyse the double meanings of discussions, and to see past people’s banter to read what they were really saying. To read between lines and to hear what others are not telling him. He was good at making business partners, and temporary allies with whom he could establish mutual ground. But life had rarely called for making friends, especially not ones he presumed were already hostile toward him in spoken and unspoken terms.

“What we need is a techie expert to join Overwatch,” Tracer said. “They don’t even need to fight they just need to repair half of our equipment, official and non-official.”

“Then the real question’d be, would I go to the tech or the doc to fix my arm,” McCree spoke up from across the room. He appeared to be completely preoccupied with mission planning with Winston, but Hanzo should not have been surprised at his capacity to weave in and out of different tasks and keep an ear on his surroundings. Hanzo _was_ surprised by just how closely it related to his earlier thoughts regarding his brother.

“Robotics is not my specialty,” Mercy said. “I am liking Lena’s idea more and more.”

Hanzo let possible contributions process and reprocess in his head as he stared blankly at his book. All he could think about was how, in his recent past, he had needed to do almost all of these tasks himself. The wound patching, the technology fixing, the supply purchasing, the mission planning. And now, he was sitting in a common room reading a novel.

“Bout time my ideas were appreciated,” Lena said.

“I liked the one you said yesterday,” Hanzo finally spoke up. “About getting an architect to upgrade the base.”

“See!” Lena nodded at him. “Cheers! I’m full of bright ideas but none of you lot seem to listen.”

“Cause ye speak so fast we can’t hear any of them,” McCree said, before returning to his work.

* * *

 

It took Hanzo several minutes to realise that their shoulders were touching.  Both he and McCree had shoulders and biceps of a sizable width, making this contact one of significant surface area. The cold morning air had caused them to both subconsciously gravitate to each other’s warmth when the heat from their mugs would not suffice. It had been a long time since Hanzo had felt the innocent and passive touch of a friend. He wondered if McCree cared at all.

“How do you do it, McCree? Make everyone around you be so at ease. Drift in and out and blend your personality with others’?”

“Hm, that’s a tall order Hanzo,” McCree said. “It takes time and it takes practice. Even if you’re as charismatic as me.”

“Everyone here hates me,” Hanzo said. “They try to hide it, but they are ready to tear me apart the moment I slip up.”

“They don’t hate you,” McCree said, shuffling a bit to pull a cigar from his pocket. He offered one to Hanzo.

“No thank you, they repulse me. And maybe they do not hate me, but they certainly do not like me.”

McCree cut the cigar but he did not light it, choosing to chew on it instead. “They don’t know you. You gotta actually talk to them Hanzo.”

“Well, it appears they will never know me then,” Hanzo said. McCree nudged him with his elbow, the moment of separation making the cold hit Hanzo harder than it should have.

“Naw, I see you trying. N’besides, you made friends with me didn’t’ya?”

“You talked to me first. Everyone avoids me. Or ignores me. Why did you even talk to me? All you knew of me was that I was the bastard who hurt one of your best friends and I can fire arrows.”

“Well, yeah. But I was there for most of it. Genji I mean. I’ve known him a real long time. When he was all angry and hurt from what you did. N’ when he began slowly making peace with who he was and what had happened. I’ve known him a long time. I ain’t ever known you. And anything that happened between the two of you, that ain’t my fight to pick... Unless you dare hurt him again then no amount of zen, robotic or figurative, can make me hesitate.”

“Never,” Hanzo said. He felt doubt rising in him again. Questioning all the possible reasons McCree could have for trying to get close to him. Was he just as worried about Hanzo as everyone else? Did he just want to be close in order to keep an eye on him? Was it foolish to assume for even a second, that McCree found him interesting and just wanted to be his friend. Or was he too wound up in overanalysing everyone’s intentions.

“Good.”

“Despite all of this, I feel you are alone in your thought space, about trying to see me from what I show you rather than what you have heard. Everyone else, they just see me as a murderer. A villain.”

“Most of us are murderers here,” McCree said. “You gotta show them something else Hanzo. You gotta start coming to game night. You gotta start suggesting movies. You gotta crack a joke, laugh at someone else’s. All we see of you is when you’re training. You gotta come outta your mean-guy shell, if you want people to see you as something other than sour.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds reasonable,” Hanzo said. “But easier said than done, if that saying even applies when the challenge involves speaking.”

“Listen, I tell you what, start with Hana. She’s a ball of sunshine, and she’s real good at making friends.”

“The girl?” Hanzo asked. McCree’s eyes went wide and he nearly spit out his cigar.

“Oh buddy you ain’t want to be callin’ her that.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Yeah, and _have_ you seen her in battle?”

“No, only training. And only in a MEKA.”

“Yeah, well I’ve seen her in battle. Legit fire fights. And let me tell you, if you’ve only seen her in the MEKA, you ain’t seen nothing. Once that things been under heavy fire and she’s outta her suit she’s deadly. That MEKA isn’t to protect her, its to protect the poor fools who gotta face her when she’s armed with her pistol.”

Hanzo wasn’t sure whether he should laugh, but when McCree’s eyebrows remained raised he realised that he had not been joking.

“Noted. Hana is friendly, and deadly,” Hanzo said. “I predict we will get along well.”

* * *

 

“Good evening,” Hanzo said, standing in the doorway and overthinking everything about his posture. Hana was sitting on the common room couch, upside-down with her feet in the air and game controller in hand. She looked at him and smiled with teeth clenched to hold a lollypop in place. Like a healthier version McCree with his cigars.

“Hiya,” she said. Angela on the other end of the couch looked up from her book briefly, and Lucio didn’t even realise his presence due to the large headphones he was wearing and his focus on his computer. Hanzo was well aware that he was in the presence of probably the three most polite and approachable members of Overwatch.

“What you up to?” Hana asked, pausing the game on screen.

“I was just seeing who had free time,” Hanzo said.

“Well everyone else is training or working or not on base. It’s a pretty quiet today, which is why Angie’s actually got a moment to breathe.”

“A decent way to pass the time.”

“Yeah _books,_ way to unwind while reminding everyone you’re a doctor.” Angela reached out and slapped Hana, making her giggle. “So, are you here because McCree told you to socialise?”

Hanzo let out a deep sigh. “He calls us friends, yet now I really think I hate him.”

Hana sat up. “Yeah, Jesse’s _the worst._ Come’ere. Play with me and complain all about him,” she said, patting the couch beside her.

“Very well,” he said walking over. “What exactly _did_ McCree say to you?”

“Hmm, it’s a secret.”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “A secret. I do not trust either of you to have secrets regarding me.”

Hana passed him a controller and he looked up at the screen realising she was playing some form of cartoon fighting game. She began flicking through the menus on her own controller to change game modes.

“Tell you what, you beat me and I’ll tell you what he said.”

“If it is a secret then I do not think he will be happy about you sharing.”

“What’s he gonna do about it, yodel threateningly at me? B’sides he won’t know if you don’t tell him.”

“Clearly I have chosen a trustworthy person to become acquainted with.” Hanzo said. A character select screen appeared and Hana immediately locked in her choice. “I do not know how to play this one.”

“You press all the buttons and hope for the best,” Hana said.

“Who should I play as?”

“Whichever character you think is the cutest.”

He flicked through a few options before choosing an anthromorphic fox.

“Starfox?” Hana said curiously. 

“Why what is wrong? You said pick the cutest.”

“Okay,” Hana said, before adding under her breath, “…you fucking furry.”

“What?”

Before Hanzo could get a response the game had begun.

* * *

 

“Sweet baby Jesus that was a close one!” McCree shrieked as an arrow whizzed by, less than a metre above his head. He watched its victim fall to the floor. “Good thing I trust your skills.”

“Keep a better watch out behind you,” Hanzo responded through his earpiece, disinterested in McCree’s pedantic words. “I will not always be able to watch your back.”

“Aw, and here I was thinking that you enjoyed watchin’ my back.”

Hanzo smiled as he drew another arrow from his quiver, surveying the horizon. “Perhaps if you invested in tighter pants it would feel like less of a chore.”

“Hanzo darlin’ you’re killing me,” McCree said with a chuckle, quickly reloading and continuing on his path to meet the team at the payload.

“You’re killing _all_ of us,” Genji spoke through the line. “For the love of god please learn how to switch to private channels.”

“So, when you flirt with everyone it is acceptable, but when I do it suddenly I am shunned,” Hanzo said.

“When it is _you_ , yes. As my older brother, you’re just not allowed to flirt within earshot of me.”

“You invited me here,” Hanzo said. “Overwatch in its entirety I mean.”

“Well, I am honestly surprised and glad to see you working as a team member at all,” Genji said. “If you could keep your teamwork with McCree a little more professional I would be exuberant.”

“I think it’s cute. It helps keep the mission lively,” Mei’s voice chimed in. “Plus, I’m really surprised your high and tight brother is so close with McCree, of all people.”

“Hey!” the cowboy’s voice butted in. “I’m plenty likable.”

“Yes Jesse. You’re also very annoying,” Genji said, although there was a singsong tease to his voice. Hanzo’s laughter rang through the line.

“Can we please focus on the mission?” Angela’s voice came through. “McCree when are you expected arrive?”

“About three minutes-”

“Jesse!” Hanzo saw the agents only a moment before one took a shot at McCree. A wail of pain rang across the Overwatch communication line directly into the ears of the agents. A second later a Talon agent was struck with an arrow.

* * *

 

“I told you to keep an eye out,” Hanzo said as McCree swallowed his dosage of painkillers.

“Heh, no harm done,” he said.

“Your arm in broken,” Hanzo said waving at his cast.

“Little harm done,” McCree said placing the glass down. “Can’t get as bad as the other arm anyway. Come-on, let’s check out the view before we ship out tomorrow.”

Eichenwalde castle was objectively one of the most stunning places Hanzo had ever seen. The cobbled streets and buildings overrun with ivy harmonized with the broken stone and deactivated bastion units to create a harsh yet beautiful reminder of the cost of war and abandonment. They began climbing the inner staircase of a tower, the enclosed walls casting them in near darkness, before they reached the top.

The sun was due to set soon, so they made their way to the edge of the tower to take in the sight before it was too dark to do so. “It’s like a place from a fairy-tale.” McCree said. “Like with princesses and dragons and knights. Y’know, like Shrek.”

“Funnily enough, the dragons are the only of those three which are actually here,” Hanzo said. Along his arm, the spirits residing in his tattoo stirred at their mention.

“Knew we should’ve brought Reinhardt for the mission. He’d make a good knight.”

Hanzo leant against the tower barricade next to McCree. Up high, the air was colder and the wind stronger, however Hanzo kept from pressing against his friend for warmth due to the freshly sore bullet wound in his arm. “Hm, you don’t think he would make a decent princess?”

“Damn, you’re right. Who’s our knight then?” McCree asked.

“Hana, probably.”

“Ain’t knights all about honour? She don’t seem the type. She’s a good soldier, but I dunno about chivalrous.”

“Honour is rare in Overwatch. And I highly doubt any of us are chivalrous.”

“Aw, Hanzo. You wound me.”

“No need. A bullet already did that for me,” Hanzo said, giving McCree another pointed glare.

“Alright, lesson learned. Don’t lose concentration on the field, less you face the wrath of Hanzo’s unbelievably docile insults.”

“The lesson was meant to be, don’t lose concentration because you could die, McCree.”

“Fair enough, death is a lil’ scarier than your insults.”

“I must be losing my touch,” Hanzo said. A chill wind blew by, making him miss the warmth of coffee in his hands, or the warmth of an uninjured cowboy beside him.

“Hey, I said only a lil,” McCree gave him a wink. No injury could keep McCree from his cheesy charming ways. The wind made his messy hair flare wildly, whipping him in the eyes. He moved to tuck it behind his ear, but yelped in pain as he remembered his arm which was still broken after less than 24 hours of being shot.

“What did you do?”

“I forgot my arms still got a hole in it.”

Hanzo shook his head, but slowly reached up to tuck a lock behind McCree’s ear for him. “You have no sense of self preservation, do you cowboy?”

McCree gave him a curious smile. “Reckon if I grow my hair all out, you could tie it up like yours?”

“A scarf would look ridiculous on you.”

“Hmm, you must just be a really good model then. Shame, here I was picturing hair play dates in our future.”

“Were you planning on inviting Hana? You seem to gossip enough as it is behind my back.”

“What’cha talkin’ ‘bout?” McCree said, peering over the city once more. The sun was reluctant to set during the summer time, and clung in the sky long into the night.

“She told me that you asked her to become friends with me,” Hanzo said.

“Lil snitch,” McCree grumbled. He took in a brief chattering breath in the cold. Hanzo carefully wrapped an arm around his back, trying to warm him while avoiding his injury.

“I appreciate it,” Hanzo said.

“No problem pal. Just one step closer to joining the team.”

* * *

 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Genji said. Hanzo looked up from his phone to his brother sitting across from him, posed and ready to begin meditation.

Hanzo tapped out a final message to McCree. Being rushed by his brother meant that he didn’t get to use the ample amount of emojis the message deserved. “We were discussing our recent mission,” Hanzo lied.

“I see, and here I was afraid you were having fun for once in your life,” Genji said.

“I am not here for fun. I am here for you,” Hanzo said.

“That is both insulting and false. And if that were the case then you will not last long.”

“Because Overwatch is a place of irresistible fun?” Hanzo joked.

“Because Overwatch is not another person hiring you for a simple assassination. Overwatch is a commitment. It is sacrifice. It is an ideology you must believe in,” Genji explained. “Even those who were forced to be in Overwatch way back, had to truly believe in its work to last long.”

“Those who were forced?” Hanzo asked.

“Like Jesse,” Genji said. “He was technically a prisoner for his first five years here, but he fought for something he believed in. Making amends for his past. Trying to tip the scales against people’s lives he’s ruined to those he’s saved.” It was a tale just a little too familiar for Hanzo, although he found comfort in this new found similarity between he and the cowboy.

Hanzo looked at the empty tea cups in front of them. In his youth Genji hadn’t cared for tea, it’s flavour too dull in comparison to the millions of types of soft drinks available just down the street at the arcade. Now, it seemed, Genji had developed a pleasure for the subtler tastes in life.

“When did you start drinking tea?” Hanzo asked, deflecting Genji’s very Hanzo-specific lecture.

“When I spent several years in the frozen mountains of Nepal. There was little else to drink, and it was warm.”

Hanzo looked back up at his brother, his face free of his visor. It was a sight which tore Hanzo to shreds, but knowing that Genji had allowed him to see his face at all, simultaneously helped to put those shreds together again. In his arm, he felt dragons curl tightly under his flesh.

“Why do you draw your bow on the battlefield, Hanzo?”

“To kill my targets. To protect my friends. To get the job done. It is not as morally complicated as your monk sensei would have you believe.”

“Your friends?” Genji perked. Hanzo is not sure if it’s a genuine question, or simply a sibling teasing him.

“Yes, I have friends. And I would rather not see them die,” Hanzo said. “I know it has been a long time since I had real friends, but I hear that not letting them die is the customary thing to do, is it not?”

“It is good practice,” Genji said. “Although you need not flirt with them all.”

Hanzo’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, but as Genji began to laugh Hanzo found himself carried along with the emotion. “You little shit,” he spat, although there is no bite behind it. Instead, he grabbed the handful of incense sticks and chucked them at his brother, making them both laugh even harder in the scramble.

“You’re McSmitten, it’s plain as day,” Genji teased, rising to his feet.

“McSmitten?” Hanzo repeated. He stepped around their meditation mat, and Genji caught onto his movement quickly. In a flash, they were in a playfight with no particular endgame except to forcibly stop Genji from speaking.

“You’ve McFallen for my McBestFriend, McCree,” he said, each word overly enunciated.

“He is a good friend and pleasant company,” Hanzo said pointedly. He tried to pin Genji down and cover his mouth, but Genji wiggled free. “In all this time I thought you would have grown up a little.”

“You want to McKiss his McFace,” Genji said, making Hanzo lunged at him. Hanzo strategically backed Genji up against a wall.

“Will you stop saying ‘Mc’?” Hanzo asked. Very, very slowly Genji leant forwards until his face was just a few inches from Hanzo’s. They remained perfectly still, like a Mexican standoff, eye to eye.

Hanzo watched every muscle of Genji’s face move to speak. “McNever.”

Hanzo moved to grab at Genji but the cyborg had already begun climbing halfway up the wall behind him to safety. He reached the building’s highest window, before perching on its ledge to look down at Hanzo. Hanzo conceded that this playfight did not warrant the effort of scaling the building.

“That seems like a dangerous place to meditate,” Hanzo called to him.

“Being in the same room as you is a dangerous place to meditate,” Genji shouted back.

“Only because you pissed me off,” Hanzo said. He returned to their meditation set up and sat down. As he reached for his phone again, Genji climbed down swiftly to read it over his shoulder.

“You have become obsessed,” he said, as Hanzo hid the screen away from his brother. More out of preference for privacy than a concern about the contents. “I must intervene before you become addicted to the cowboy.”

“I am not addicted, or obsessed,” Hanzo defended.

“No, but you are growing accustomed to his doting on you.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I thought you wanted me to integrate into the team life?”

“You’ve found a friend who is willing to put up with who you are, despite your many, many flaws,” Genji said. He sat down across from Hanzo, collecting a few of the incense sticks to replace them in their box. “I think it is the best thing.”

* * *

 

“Hey Hanzo you going to come watch the fireworks?” Hana said as she flitted about the buffet table. Despite being on a temporary base, the Overwatch members had pulled together a decent New Year’s celebration feast. The Illios heat clung to the air long into the night, meaning she could wear party clothes of a skirt and singlet as well as a deck of cheap jewellery she had picked up in souvenir surf shops over the past week.

Hanzo looked up from where he was preparing two cups of coffee to check the time. Ten to midnight. “I will be out in a moment… Hana! Is that alcohol.”

Hana held up a bottle of cider. “Cheers,” she said.

“You are too young!”

“Not in Greece I’m not. No legal drinking age woo!” she called as she bounced out of the building into the night to join the rest of the team, plate freshly stocked with food.

Hanzo shook his head as he finished preparing the coffee, one filled with sugar and milk, and the other bitter and black. Outside the sound of the roaring ocean reminded him of Gibraltar for a moment, although there the seaside provided a chill wind. He made his way to the lighthouse where most of the other Overwatch agents stood around chatting and waiting for the end of the year. When he caught sight, McCree’s smile was without restraint, alcohol enhancing the expressive cowboy only more so.

“Coffee, thank the heavens apparently Overwatch has two resident angels,” McCree said, taking his offered cup. Hanzo had the sudden, and hopeful realisation, that McCree may also be a flirty drunk.

“You are too easily impressed,” Hanzo said as they made their way to a more secluded part of the balcony.

“Maybe you just easily impress people, Shimada Hanzo,” McCree said leaning against the white stone balcony and sipping his coffee.

“And I have not even shown you my dragons yet,” Hanzo said, drowning the words with a long drink from his mug. Maybe _he_ was the flirty drunk.

In the distance, amongst the chit chat of a small crowd of Overwatch members, a radio host mentioned a remaining 3 minutes left of the year, before diving into a final song. McCree hummed along to the tune, and with the sound of the waves underlying it, Hanzo’s mind drifted. He had had one hell of a year. Every year was an eventful one when you spent your life travelling the world killing people, but even moving on from being a hitman had brought new and dynamic challenges.

He had arrived at Overwatch in early February. Slowly building a working relationship with his brother, and then the foundations of a friendly one. Several months had passed and he had learned the Overwatch protocols, their morals, their way of living and working, but he hardly knew the people. Until McCree had moseyed into that training range, everyone had just been a face at a group meeting, or a role in a mission formation. Tank, medic, short range attack. But now they were people, co workers. Reinhardt, Angela, Lena. And potentially friends-  
“Ten!” McCree’s shout beside him shook Hanzo, and through the heart attack he nearly knocked his mug off the ledge into the dark ocean abyss far below. “Nine!”

“Why so loud, I am right beside you?” Hanzo said over the following 4 numbers.

“Because you say New Year to the whole world - One!” Behind them Hanzo heard the rest of Overwatch let out a cheer and suddenly the horizon lit up. Dull booms of distant fireworks illuminated the bay. It was such an old tradition. One everyone had observed many times over in their own cultural ways and times. But it always held some strange unique magic. A romanticism regardless of how unchecked resolutions were, or how many fireworks one had seen. The ambiance of midnight and new beginnings.

Beside him, McCree was enraptured by the sky, and Hanzo watched the reflections of fireworks light up his eyes. Underneath there were bags from tiredness, and at the corners wrinkles from age, as well as the tug of joy. Whiskery hairs along McCree’s face fanned out and bloomed to fluffy hair. It was a sight Hanzo was happy to greet his new year.

McCree caught his stare, the grin on his face strong yet at ease. “Do you kiss people on New Years’ in Japan?” he asked.

It was a bit of a shock, but Hanzo wasn’t going to pretend that kissing hadn’t crossed his mind when he first found out he would be spending New Year’s with McCree. “Why do you ask?” he teased.

“Just curious,” McCree said. He was silent for a moment before continuing. “Because… you’re my pal, and we’ve been…” his hands circled each other. “I just thought… Hanzo, is it alright if I kiss ya? If not I’ll never mention it ag-”

Hanzo reached up and cupped both of McCree’s cheeks in his hands. His thumbs passed over rough bearded cheeks, which were just as interesting to feel as to just observe. He gave McCree’s lips a quick glance, calculating the distance, before he stood up on his toes stretching to press their lips together. The kiss started gentle and chaste, but Hanzo’s heart hammered the moment contact was made. McCree’s lips were warm, and softer than he expected. When McCree deepened it, he could taste mostly coffee, which wasn’t exactly a good thing, but Hanzo found himself wanting to remember every detail of this exchange. It was a satisfying kiss with a man he had admittedly hoped to kiss for quite a while now.

While the feel of a handsome man’s lips sliding against his own was noteworthy in itself, the hands on his waist was another point of contact which he relished in. Strong fingers curled to hold him in place on his balancing toes. He remembered a small note he had left to himself in his fantasies, that if he ever got this opportunity he would make sure their beards scraped together, at least once and at least decently. It was ticklish on his chin, and he felt McCree laugh against his mouth, before they finally broke the kiss.

The kiss was over, but the moment was not. McCree’s hands remained on Hanzo’s waist as he returned to his feet. Even through the coloured light of the fireworks, Hanzo could see the redness of McCree’s face, and he placed a quick affectionate kiss on McCree’s cheek. The pops of the distant explosions in the sky finally returned to Hanzo’s senses. Hanzo turned, wrapping an arm around McCree so they could both watch the finale of the display side by side. Soon the night fell silent and dark. Hanzo stepped away from the balcony and from McCree.

“I will see you in the morning, McCree.”

“How about you call me Jesse?”

“Very well. Happy new year, Jesse.”

“Sure has started that way, Hanzo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this story is written already, I just need to proof the chapters and edit the ending.  
> feel free to comment, especially if you have something nice to say or notice a spelling mistake  
> find me at apocahipster.tumblr.com


	2. War Stories, Tea and Bluffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some new faces at the Watchpoint, and a developing crush.

While the rest of the team made a zombie like crawl off the airship, Hanzo was never the type of person to experience extreme jetlag. Instead he felt his body awaken with it’s typical amount of energy at the sight of the sunrise in Gibraltar, regardless of however many hours of sleep he had gotten lately.

After returning his equipment to storage and his belongings to his room, he made his way to the kitchen. Hours without sleep was acceptable, but not hours without food. As he walked into the communal kitchen the smell of green tea drifted to his senses.

Alone at the large dining table sat a regal looking woman with long dark hair. She sipped from a teacup which matched the ornate teapot in front of her. Most notably, tapping away at a tablet, she had a mechanical arm which by appearance alone was apparently far more sophisticated than McCree’s was. She looked up at Hanzo as he entered, her golden eyes striking into him a sudden image of a woman who demanded and deserved reverence. He liked to imagine this is what people thought when they first saw him.

“Good morning,” she said lowering her cup.

“Who are you?” Hanzo asked, sounding more blunt than he had intended.

“I am Satya, or Symmetra as you will come to know me.”

“Hmm,” Hanzo made his way to the kitchen area, pausing at the sight of a tea box. “What are you drinking?”

Satya looked up from her tablet and raised her cup. “I’m drinking tea.”

“Yes. I am aware of that,” Hanzo said, unsure if he should be humoured or offended. “I meant what kind?”

Her expression changed and she looked almost embarrassed. “Oh, it’s Jasmine,” she looked down at her tablet before a moment later asking, “Would you like some?”

Hanzo gave the box of instant coffee a quick glare, the thought of overly sweet powder repulsing him immediately. “If you have some to spare.”

“I made an entire pot but it appears no one eats breakfast around here. I was feeling foolish,” Satya explained as she poured hot tea into a spare cup. Hanzo joined her at the table, thanking her when she passed the cup.

She was right, the kitchen was uncannily quiet for the morning. Without Tracer, Reinhardt and McCree, Overwatch’s resident ‘morning people’, an eerie silence and stillness clung in the air. While the coldness between strangers could hardly be warmed by tea alone, Hanzo found himself less self-conscious in Satya’s presence. Perhaps it was the boldness which came with being the insider in the presence of an outsider. She was the stranger to this base, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, and he knew the names of everyone who operated here.

Her attention remained on her tablet. He understood the comfort which came with an excusable ‘other task’.

What would McCree do? What would McCree say? He’d probably flirt. Or ask about her work.

 _Why are you here?_ No, that sounds too rude. Too invasive and too interrogating.

 _Howdy there, ma’am. What brings a pretty face like yours to our delightful Watch Point Gibraltar, partner?_ He could almost perfectly hear McCree’s voice say the words.

“So Satya, what brings you to Overwatch? You must be a talented woman to be requested on base?”

She looks up and smiles. “Oh, I have been sent on behalf of Vishkar to help with your base’s security. I am an expert in hard-light technology and am here to integrate your base and optimise it’s operation.”

“Hard light. I was right, you are talented. That’s an impressive skill to have.”

“It is more than skill alone,” she said. Hanzo understood. Years and years of hard work and training should be valued above the natural talent.

“How long have you been working with hard light?”

In marginal ways, easy to miss to the untrained eye, Satya’s face lit up. Hanzo caught it, and was more than happy to listen to her story of becoming a world class hard-light engineer. Time slipped away, and the tablet shone forgotten in place of good conversation, and even better tea.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo liked the name Jesse. He liked saying it. He liked having the word in his mouth almost as much as he had liked having Jesse’s mouth in his mouth. He wouldn’t say he was pining, however every time he made his way to their private afternoon coffee rendezvous, he would picture kissing the cowboy again. And upon getting to the roof, they would both simply drink or talk, or read, or play games as usual. Nothing had changed, regardless of New Year’s adventures.

They met one night before McCree was scheduled to leave on a mission. Hanzo arrived with a portable chess set and a few minutes later McCree arrived with a cigar. Tonight was one of the rare times he had actually lit it in Hanzo’s presence.

“I thought you would be restless as you usually are before a flight,” Hanzo said as McCree sat beside him. There were many places around Gibraltar with impressive views, and they had both recently decided that they would search and try out all of them in a mission to find the perfect place to watch the sunset. The place they had chosen was fairly close to base, although it was further along the rocky mountain side than most agents chose to travel along during their downtime walks. It took a mild amount of rock climbing to reach their ledge, however it was a safe enough journey and the ground was stable in the small lookout in which they sat.

The cowboy puffed smoke and watched the plumes drift into the air. Far below, the waves had long become a white noise in their afternoon rendezvous.

“Jesse?”

The cowboy remained frozen for a moment before seemingly snapping from his daze, as if noticing Hanzo’s presence for the first time.

“I’m real sorry bud, I forgot our drinks,” McCree said, ignoring Hanzo’s words altogether. His drawl was heavier than usual, but only noticeably so by someone who listened to it as often and attentively as Hanzo did.

“It is fine. Do you want to play?” Hanzo asked, indicating to the chess set.

McCree simply hummed before turning his eyes back to the ocean.

“Y’ever been to Egypt Hanzo?” McCree asked.

“No, I have not,” Hanzo said, propping his arms on his knees, ready to listen for however long McCree chose to speak.

“It’s different depending on where you go. Really different. I’ve been there before, all over the country. I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about it though. All I can picture is Ana.”

“I do not know who that is,” Hanzo admitted.

“She was my mentor. She was my superior officer in my time in Egypt. She was a sniper and a medic. Saved my ass so many times on that shitty mission. The mission was a mess from the start. Badly planned, poorly chosen agents, b’sides her I suppose.”

“Why did you accept to go on tomorrow’s mission then, if there are memories causing you grief?” Hanzo asked. He only knew of the destination of McCree’s next mission, however details were restricted to operating agents as a measure of security, as with most assignments.

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself all damn week,” McCree said. He took a final drag of his cigar, letting it hold in his lungs for a moment before exhaling it into the air and crushing the rest against the ground. With a grunted ‘omph’ he let his head collapse onto Hanzo’s shoulder.

“You want to protect those who have not been there already?” Hanzo ventured. “Make use of your inside expertise.”

“Maybe.”

Hanzo carefully moved his arm, wrapping it around McCree. As his fingers massaged circles into McCree’s shoulders Hanzo watched the ocean, trying to comprehend a feeling which came with comforting McCree, growing deep in his stomach. No, the feeling wasn’t deep in his stomach, it was in his heart.

“Sometimes we do things because we know they will hurt ourselves,” Hanzo said.

“Like smokin’ cigars?”

“Amongst other things.”

He felt a metallic arm wrap around his waist, a pointless gesture for a limb which could not feel. Although it was not pointless, not for either of them. They both knew the arm was there, and it was there to hold McCree steady.

The feeling was pride. The experience of having someone who sought him out for comfort made Hanzo proud of himself. It was one of the few beautiful things he had to be proud of.

 

* * *

 

“Beat that!” Genji shouted, the adrenaline of competition already taking control of his behaviour. Hanzo shook his head hoping that Genji didn’t notice just how damn happy seeing Genji act like his childhood-self made him feel. Conversing in their native Japanese added to the sweet-bitterness of the nostalgia.

 “Why shuriken Genji, it is a terrible chose of primary weapon?” Hanzo said, lifting three into his gloved hand. “They are not made to be projectiles, and you were so skilled with your katana. A better strategy at least would be to poison your shuriken, or perhaps to plant them in the ground to distract your enemy while your blade-”

“Hanzo! We came here to compete not to lecture,” Genji interrupted. Hanzo looked at the target, 20 meters down the training range. It would have been no challenge with a bow, however with shuriken Hanzo doubted his own egotistical words which had led them both here. Genji had given an impressive performance, not that Hanzo would admit it to his face. Especially not in the middle of the competition. His first throw was a complete miss. His second one was too weak and bounced off the board. He threw the final one, praying that it would stick to the board less he need to go into hiding out of pure shame. It slipped from his hand as he threw it and it flung directly into the roof of the training range, where it stuck with a metallic ‘ _clink’_.

“Well ,fuck,” Hanzo said. “At least it stayed, albeit very much off its mark.”

Genji started laughing, the giggling sound coming out partially distorted through his robotic voice box.

“Oh shut up,” Hanzo spat. He opened the guard gate so he could make his way across the firing range. There was no one else present but the two brothers. He stood a step away from directly below it, just in case it decided to slip out. Unfortunately, it seemed firmly wedged. “That is not coming out any time soon. Do we have a ladder?”

At that question Genji clutched the guard rail in front of him, doubling over and wheezing with intensified laughter.

Hanzo’s eye twitched with frustration for a moment, before he looked back at the ceiling. The metal of the roof had bent out of shape due to the sheer force the shuriken was thrown. A smile spread across Hanzo’s lips before a few laughs forced their way out.

“You idiot,” Genji managed to say through his fit of hysteria. Hanzo looked back to his brother, who had removed his face plate in order to breathe better. There were tears at the corner of his eyes. Their eyes locked and Genji said, “I need that shuriken back. I cannot be bothered filing out the report for missing ammunition.”

“Technically it is not missing,” Hanzo said. Genji gave him what can only be described as ‘a look’ before both brothers cracked up again, a new wave of hysteria breaking any and all divides between them for a peaceful moment.

* * *

 

It was dinner time when McCree and the other agents returned from their mission. They filed into the kitchen, slightly weary from work and travel, but more than happy to be back on base.

“I almost suspect that you planned your timing,” Angela said from behind the counter, as she had been on head cook duty that night.

“Or maybe you planned our return in time for dish duty,” Reinhart retorted making his way to the assortment of meals on display on the table.

McCree brushed his fingers against Hanzo’s shoulders giving a soft personal ‘hey’, before he continued around the table to retrieve himself dinner. It took several minutes for the commotion to settle, before everyone was mostly sat and dining. Most agents talked of their recent assignment, something they did happily as it was a successful mission. Other missions which resulted in injury of members or civilians or other forms of mishaps and trauma were not spoken of outside of debriefing. At least not in communal pleasant chit-chat. The dinners following those missions were quiet with emotionless conversations about any form of subject avoidance. Hanzo was glad it was not one of those dinners.

McCree sat in the unoccupied place opposite Hanzo, shooting him a smile.

“Your mission went well?” Hanzo asked.

“Right as rain,” McCree said back. Reinhardt’s booming voice drowned out his following words and Hanzo decided that talk could be saved for later when there was less people and less noise. As well as less food to occupy their mouths. They exchanged a smile and quirked eyebrow before they both gave their full attention to their food. Smiling around McCree felt natural. It was natural.

Hanzo could still feel his skin tingling from where McCree had brushed his shoulder. An affectionate touch specifically for him, sent from McCree. He liked it. He wanted more. He wanted more simple touches and maybe some not so simple touches. He wanted more hugs and he wanted more holding each other when they were upset. He especially wanted more kisses.

He’d seen people do it in movies and read it in novels, so he briefly looked at McCree’s lips hoping to send some sort of wordless message. His lips were busy with food and mostly hidden behind beard. Why did people look at lips? They’re supposed to imagine them, he supposed. So he did. He imagined what it would feel like to have McCree’s lips between his own again. He wanted to know what McCree tasted like when he didn’t taste of alcohol and coffee and new year’s day. Or maybe he always tasted like that? How would he know unless they kissed again? Properly. Deeper. For longer. For an entire session. He wanted the scent and the taste and incredibly, he really wanted the beard. He desired to take McCree’s top lip in between his own, and feel the scratch of hair against his soft skin. He wanted his face to tingle as rough hairs brushed and tickled his cheek. When he kissed McCree, he wanted to feel broad shoulders beneath his own hands, and listen to McCree’s deep rumbling hum, and to finally fully embrace and appreciate his sexual desire for this man.

Hanzo’s chair squeaked as he stood and abruptly excused himself from the table. 

* * *

 

McCree had been ignoring the prickling sensation on his skin for the past ten minutes. His hand began to itch and he looked down to find a mosquito trying to make a midnight snack out of his skin. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve been ignoring all the tickles in some stupid attempt to deceive himself of his own nervousness. In the morning, his arms were going to itch like a motherfucker.

He placed a mug of coffee, full yet cold, down on the floor of the walkway next to his own empty one. His attempt at keeping it warm in his hands had been a futile one in the chill of the winter air. He idly smacked at his hand knowing the pest was long gone. He checked the time, and decided on having a final smoke before calling it a night. He lit only a cigarette, cigars were too expensive to be his only source of tobacco. The smoke warmed his lungs, but not as much as he had been hoping and it was only a minute after lighting up that he heard metallic footsteps approaching. If he had only waited one more minute… he stubbed the cigar out on the safety railing lining the defence tower walkway, and waved at the air trying to clear the smoke.

“You feelin’ any better pal?” McCree asked, turning to face Hanzo.

“What are you talking about?” the archer asked. His wrinkled eyes were the easiest thing to see in the darkness, due to the way they seemed to pick up the reflection of every light, and that’s where McCree’s gaze locked.

“You left dinner a little hastily,” McCree said. He caught Hanzo’s gaze drift down to the two mugs, one empty and one abandoned, made just for him. “I wouldn’t drink that, it’s cold as ice and I’m pretty sure several critters drowned in it.”

Hanzo’s face coiled at the imagery before he turned his attention back to McCree. He leant against the railing beside McCree, a disappointing step’s distance away, keeping McCree from leeching his warmth. “How was Egypt?”

McCree closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall forwards as he let out a foggy sigh into the night air. If he had a hat on it would fall off his head and travel down the three-storey building into the rocks below. Or perhaps it would catch the wind and soar across the ocean, taking off on its own separate adventure…

“Jesse?”

“It was fine.” McCree said, regaining his posture. “Too much work to really get a chance to overthink things.”

“And are you overthinking things now?” Hanzo asked. It was clear that he was new to comforting, but McCree was appreciative of his concern.

“Nah… Maybe a little. I was somewhere different this time. I’d forgotten that Egypt was a place. Like an actual country. It had all sorta moulded into a memory. A series of snapshots and I’d tied all this meaning to it which it didn’t have… being there was good. It reminded me that it’s just a place. That it was a living breathing land which changes with time. It’s a place people call home.” McCree took a deep sigh. “That probably makes no sense.”

“Actually, I think I understand,” Hanzo said.

“But ya don’t. You ain’t been through what I have. You don’t even know what happened in Egypt.”

“No, I do not. But I know what it is like to have too many emotions tied to one place. The word Hanamura has… it does not mean what it once did.” Hanzo tilted his head, inspecting McCree’s pose for a moment, calculating. He reached out a hand, brushing his fingers with McCree’s hand. “If you want to tell me about Egypt, I will listen. If not now, then when you are ready.”

McCree let a soft smile loose. “That’s my robotic hand you just stroked Han. Listen I appreciate it, the offer, but there are some things which I just gotta keep to myself.”

“Of course.”

“You’re a good pal, but that’s a story I ain’t big on sharing with even my closest friends.”

Hanzo looked back down to the mugs on the floor. Empty and full. One drunk and one prepared for a man who hadn’t been there. Not everything in their lives was made to be shared.

“As you wish.”

* * *

 

“Two pairs!” Hana exclaimed slapping her poker cards down in front of her. With an exuberant smile she reached across the table ready to drag the stash of chips towards her.

“Not so fast little lady,” McCree said, leaning over to examine her cards. A smile crept upon his face as he placed his cards down. “Two pair, with two kings.”

“Ah screw you cowboy,” Hana said. Hanzo looked to Satya who was equally judgemental of the two.

“Hanzo what’ve you got?” McCree asked, leaning over the counter. Hanzo flipped his cards.

“A nine and a king? Why’d you fold on the first round?”

“I had nothing in my hand and Hana had raised,” Hanzo said.

“You would’a had a pair of kings too.”

“By the end. I could not justify raising beforehand.”

“That’s why you bluff,” Hana said. “You act like you’re always going to win. Half of this game’s fun comes from the drama.”

“I never bluff,” Hanzo said. “I simply am as good as I say I am or I stay quiet. Usually I am impressive enough for this to work.”

“Likewise,” Satya said taking a sip of her tea. “Acting is not my strong suit, it is why I never play.”

 “And you need a strong suit to win poker,” McCree said, raising his tiny tea cup in triumph. His company took a moment to process the pun, before each groaning in varying octaves. He took a sip, his large fingers struggling to keep the cup from rattling in his ungraceful hold.

“You know what you need,” Hana said, moving on from the atrocious joke by learning on the table and pointing directly at Hanzo. “Sunglasses and a muscle shirt. You can be one of those big ego douche guys who throw chips in for no apparent reason. And then people won’t even know when you’re throwing ‘em in to win.”

Hanzo frowned at her for a moment. “Such a specific image, why don’t you do it.”

“Because I won’t look like a douche if I did it.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed further.

“M’kay but,” McCree chipped in. “How’s he meant to distract his opponents with his enchanting hazel eyes all hidden away?”

With slow but articulate pronunciation Hana repeated the words, “Muscle shirt.”

McCree gave a curt nod, “Gotcha.”

“If you are done,” Hanzo interrupted. “I am ready to play a new round. I have an impressive new strategy in mind, it is called folding on the set up. Why postpone it to the first round?”

Hana snickered into her teacup as she finished it off the last of her drink. She slid it across the table, with a polite but unceremonious, “Top me up Symm!”

* * *

 

“It’s called sake,” Hanzo said passing Hana the glass bottle. “Although I cannot guarantee that it actually _is_ sake given the limited access to supplies on the base.”

Hana took a sip from the bottle before her face contorted dramatically. “Are you sure this is edible?” she said through her potentially mocking gags.

Hanzo scoffed and took the drink back from her tasting it for himself. “It is fine,” he said pointedly. Hana shrugged her shoulders as she opened the first can in her six pack of beer. “Beer? You truly have no taste,” Hanzo said dejectedly.

“All alcohol tastes bad,” Hana said with a shrug.

“So then why did you make such a fuss about the taste of sake?” Hanzo asked.

“It’s just a drink Hanzo, you don’t gotta take it personally,” Hana said with a stupid smirk. “Anyway it’s your turn.” She tossed a game controller to Hanzo who stared at it in confusion for a moment. “It’s just a shooty game. You have good aim right?”

Hanzo looked at the screen which had been sitting on pause for the past ten minutes. They were the only people in the common room tonight. It was Angela’s birthday and all of the traditional members of Overwatch had organised a dinner. Hana and Hanzo had decided that ‘newbies’ like them may as well take the evening off and had organised drinks and games.

“I do not know how to play this one,” Hanzo said unpausing it and immediately taking damage.

“I’ll teach you as you go, just walk and shoot with the back button. No don’t walk there!” Hana burst into laughter as Hanzo’s character fell into a bottomless ‘off map’ pit. “Okay drinking game idea, every time you die we take a drink.”

Hanzo shot her a glare before his attention was recaptured by the sounds of virtual combat. Hana’s drinking game turned out to be far more successful than they had planned. In only an hour they were both fairly drunk, with Hanzo’s hand eye coordination and Hana’s game tutoring abilities both dropping by the minute. Hanzo’s knees cracked as he stood to grab another drink from Overwatch’s communal fridge, the act of walking making him realise just how drunk he had become.

Hana took the controls, still able to play rather effectively due to years of practice. “And that’s another thing they don’t show you in movies, the smell! War smells like shit, literally. People are shitting when they die, when they’re still alive and hurt.”

“How are they supposed to show a smell on TV, Hana?” Hanzo half said – half shouted despite only being on the other side of the room. The alcohol made all of his words seem more important, and thus in need of proper enunciation.

“With characterisation and like, characters saying ‘it smells like piss because I just pissed myself.’ There’s a lot of vomit too,” Hana said. She squinted at the screen before her character was shot down again. With an exclaimed ‘fuckin’!’ she rose and joined Hanzo at the counter reaching with grabby hands towards him until he passed her another drink. “It smells like vomit and shit and piss and you wake up and you smell it and you think you’ll never not smell it. And when I got home I would always take the more aroman-aromatic-aromatheripic-a- nice smelling bath with in…cense,” she said with great difficulty. She opened the bottle of cider and raised it. “Giddy yup,” she said before taking a heavy swig.

“And here I thought I had escaped the cowboy slang for just one afternoon,” Hanzo said pressing his hand to his head.

“You love it,” she said with a wink.

“In moderation,” he said taking a drink in kind.

“ _Love_ it,” she said dramatically wiggling her eyebrows.

“To an extent.”

“There are worse things in life than cute and annoying cowboys,” Hana said.

“The scent of war, for example?”

“God you’re dramatic,” Hana said, before letting her head fall to onto the counter. He watched her fingers dance along the glass bottle as they stood in partial silence. The sound of a war game protagonist routinely dying could be faintly heard across the space.

“Are you okay?” Hanzo asked, wondering when he had started to care so damn much about the people around him. People who were but total strangers one year ago.

She remained hidden in her arms for a short while before standing up and stomping over to the TV set up. She held the power button on the console down until the machine and all of its fans suffocated and shut down. The TV screen shone blue, lighting up her face accenting the red of her eyes. She looked at Hanzo from across the room and asked, “How many people have you killed?”

Hanzo slowly made his way back to the lounge room, sitting on the couch which was surrounded by cans and glass bottles. He looked at the remnants of drink lingering at the bottoms of the bottles; liquid regrets. “Too many.”

She tilted her head to the side, lips pursed, and gave a stare so sassy it would make Satya proud.

“I lost count a long time ago. I have accepted that I was made to be a killer. Trained both physically and mentally. Of course, killing my first… victim… changed me. I cannot recall his face, or his blood on my hands, but I can recall my sadness. I can remember how lost I was after doing such a terrible thing. And the unique shame of not being ashamed. Because it was my duty.”

Hana slowly walked towards him, sitting on the couch beside him. “Was it Genji?” she asked cautiously.

“No. It was a businessman. I did not learn much about him. I was instructed to kill him by my father. The man had betrayed the clan on a deal.” Hanzo shook his head idly. “I did as I was told. Slaughtered him with my blade, waited to be excused and left and went to my room. After the door shut I cried and Genji came to me and he held me. I cried until my head hurt, and I remember saying to him, ‘I will lead a life in which I will kill more men than I will ever love.’” Hanzo took another sip of his drink. “But I asked about you, and you did not answer. How are you feeling?”

Hana picked up her bottle and took a long drink before leaving it on the table to snuggle into Hanzo’s arm. “Pretty shit. I haven’t been this drunk since my time in service. Memories of war are like a dream. Like they aren’t really part of my life. Not the life I have now. But they’re too real. I mean, I still see my fair share of violence, but it’s usually less horrific in this line of work.” Hana struggled at first but soon the words came to her. Words crafting stories which were memories which were trauma. Her tears came and went with them, and Hanzo noticed how the happier memories, stories of pranks pulled with fellow soldiers, made her laugh but made her cry the most. And he listened, for hours. A pounding headache made its way into his skull as the night wore on, but the alcohol somehow dulled the pain, and he cared about listening to his friend’s words more than his own discomfort. And he realised he had started crying too, sympathy tears at a particularly detailed recount of Hana’s worst mission. Descriptions of destructed cities which in his tired imagination warped into the familiar streets of Hanamura. And the pain of over-tiredness, and the lull of alcohol and the laughter and tears congregated into a blurry haze as consciousness slipped away with each passing hour.

\--

The sound of a nearby radio woke Hanzo. The congregation of senses last night had worn off and now he explicitly felt the pain of a million headaches at once. The sunlight in the room was far too bright, but he forced his eyes open.

The sound of Lucio humming along to music as he cooked breakfast came to him next. Then the smell of cigars. Looking down he saw a red serape draped over both him and Hana, who had fallen asleep beside him, drooling on his knee.

Hanzo brushed his messy fringe from his own face. Sitting up made a pain shoot up his spine, caused from falling asleep while sitting upright on a couch. In front of him was McCree, watching him from where he sat on the coffee table. He took a long, slow, judgemental sip from a large mug of coffee.

“I feel like death,” Hanzo said with a groggy voice.

“And somehow you’re still as pretty as ever,” McCree said lowering his mug. He reached behind him revealing a water bottle and a packet of pain killers. “Brought you some medicine.”

Hanzo gently lifted Hana off of his lap and resting her head on the couch beside him. His body creaked as he leant forwards taking the remedies from McCree. The cowboy watched him as he downed two pills and drank half of the bottle before sitting back with a groan. His legs were numb and he tried to wiggle his toes, the sensation making him suddenly nauseous.

“You can do whatever stupid garbage you want,” McCree began. “But what were you doin’ letting her get hammered?”

Hanzo squinted at McCree. “She has fought in wars, I am sure she is mature enough to decide when to drink.” He looked down at the woman who was passed out beside him. “Besides, she’s of legal drinking age in Greece.”

* * *

 

The first three letters of Zenyatta’s name were very fitting to his overall being, McCree decided. It had been interesting seeing how everyone on base behaved around the omnic during his first week at Overwatch. Hana had been polite but brief, busy with her work both for Overwatch and online. Torbjörn had refused to interact with him outright. Zenyatta and Genji would disappear for hours at a time to meditate, train or simply to hang out. McCree had walked in on one of their meditation sessions, been offered a seat and had been able to withstand it for a few minutes before an active itch took over his body. The need to move and work overcame him, resulting in an awkward exit out of an extremely quiet room.

Satya had paid Zenyatta little mind, reluctant to make friends outside of those Hanzo interacted with. And then there was Hanzo himself. Hanzo was silent and judgemental. His gaze was as piercing as one of his arrows whenever he watched his brother and the omnic interact in any sort of way. Only a day after Zenyatta’s arrival Hanzo was venting to McCree, but his words were jumbled and almost a mess.

“He spends more time with that floating monk than his own brother! And I know things are hard but we’ve been trying. _I’ve_ been trying… And we have had good times. And we work well together. And it has been years since he saw that metal-” the archer caught himself, but waved his arms frantically before resigning in a deep sigh. In the break of silence McCree threw a pebble down the cliff face losing track of its descent down into the ocean below. “I know my thinking it outdated. That it is wrong. But I am his blood and Zenyatta is just metal and circuitry.”

“You’re right Hanzo, it is outdated and wrong. Have you even considered making friends with him? It’ll help you see him as your brother’s best friend, n’ not just another omnic,” McCree suggested.

“Hmm, make friends. Why am I not surprised by your suggestion?” Hanzo looked down at his lap, fiddling with the worn golden scarf between his fingers. His fingertips were tough and calloused from years of archery and wall scaling, a striking contrast to the soft silk which had survived years of exposure with grace.

“You ain’t got nothing to be angry with Zenyatta about. If not for him you probably wouldn’t be here because Genji certainly wouldn’t be. I knew Genji before his journey to Nepal, and I can tell you, Zen saved his life as much as Angela did. You should appreciate that.”

Hanzo worried some of the loose threads at the edge of the scarf. He wondered if he should sew it up, try to preserve it, or if that would ruin its beauty. “I know. Genji speaks of him often, with great admiration. I know how much he means to Genji. I just…”

“If I can offer, I think you’re a little angry at yourself more than anyone else.”

The thread pulled, opening a small hole in the fabric.

“It doesn’t take a psychologist to realise that, McCree,” Hanzo said with dry humour.

“Well, your friendly neighbourhood cowboy takes just a few beats longer to figure that stuff out.”

The colour would be impossible to match, but Hanzo made up his mind. It was better to repair something broken, if it was something which he cared so dearly about. Even with out of place threads bridging it closed, it would still be beautiful.

* * *

 

Winston, Tracer and Torbjörn were not McCree’s first choice in poker opponents, but they were his only choice. Winston overanalysed each of his decisions, taking up a momentous amount of time; Lena was unable to keep a straight face; and Torbjörn had a natural inability to fold, resulting in significant losses of chips on his behalf. Why did Hanzo and Hana have to be away on a mission, working, like productive members of society?

McCree shook his head slowly, unable to contain the grin on his face as he scooped up his winnings from a round which bankrupted Lena and Torbjörn simultaneously.

“Do you have room for one more?” Genji’s synthetic voice chimed in as he entered the common room followed by his floating friend.

“Yeah I reckon it’s time we started over,” McCree said, beginning to redistribute his chips. Genji sat beside him at the table and Zenyatta made his way to one of the room’s empty corners. McCree occasionally glanced over his shoulder, curious about what the omnic was doing, however all he saw was him sitting cross legged, head bowed and silent in meditation.

“I am an excellent poker player,” Genji said as he shuffled the deck.

“S’ that so?” McCree asked.

“Yes. I am known for having an unreadable face,” he said.

“You should give Lena some tips,” Winston said, handing over his cards, before realisation dawned on his face. “Oh, I get it.”

“Are you also good at making quick decisions? I’ve seen you with that blade of yours,” Lena said. “You could teach Winston here a lesson.” She nudged the gorilla with her skinny elbow, giggling in good faith.

“The secret is to not take so long,” Genji replied. “Unlike McCree who takes years to make a move.”

“What’da’ya mean? I consider my cards for a reasonable amount’a time.” McCree said, shocked at the accusation.

“I’m not talking about poker Jesse,” Genji said.

“Well unless it’s poker it’s none of your business,” McCree said.

The cards were distributed and the game commenced. The rounds went smoothly, however McCree couldn’t shake the off-feeling about his company. Despite the silent omnic out of his sight, something was different. He had played cards with each of these people, and gorilla, before… except Genji. Genji had rarely joined in on downtime games, and here he was, playing along like it was the most natural thing to him. He knew that Hanzo was desperate to spend more casual time with Genji, but why did he choose to join in now? What had changed?

Lena slammed her cards on the table, revealing a full house. No one was surprised by her impressive hand, even Torbjörn had refused to raise after seeing her practically leap out of her chair with excitement at the final betting stage. As her ‘woops’ of celebration died down, McCree heard the sound of Zenyatta laughing along with the action.

* * *

 

“How’d the mission go?” McCree asked grabbing several cases of spare guns from the carrier.

“Flawlessly, of course, I was there,” Hanzo said as he took several bags containing pulse rifle ammunition.

“Did ya miss me?” McCree teased.

“Immeasurably,” Hanzo said with a perfect deadpan. Something in the way he looked at McCree made him believe that the statement held sincerity. Or maybe it was just hope. Foolish, gay, hope.

They began their journey to the weapons storage shed.  Stepping outside the heat of the midday sun made them squint in the light. It wasn’t long before the heavy equipment and heat started wearing their way into McCree’s stamina, sweat beading and muscles tiring. He felt his skin flush with heat and looked over at Hanzo to see if the other man was suffering as he was. The archer maintained a perfect composure, his breathing steady and face as at ease as it usually was. McCree quickly balanced all the cases in one arm as he swiped a gloved hand across his forehead, trying his best to look casual.

“I have a suggestion, about formation with a team involving Reinhardt, Tracer and I,” Hanzo spoke.

McCree could barely trust his body to respond audibly, “Hmm?” was the only sound he managed to make in response.

“Who would I speak to about that?” Hanzo asked adjusting his grip slightly on the cases he held. Just maybe his hulking muscular arms were feeling a slight weight on them by this point.

“Maybe Winston? No one’s really in charge of tactical organisation but Athena I suppose. I help out a lil here n’ there.”

“Athena? That makes sense actually,” Hanzo said. “An AI calculating the most effective formations for various situations.” They reached the shed, Hanzo placing the equipment down to open the door and McCree dropping his cases, trusting that they were sturdy enough to keep their contents secure on impact. “What I was thinking was, when Lena is the only quick damage, she doesn’t stay behind shields she dashes around. Whereas I am a very skilful fighter at close range. With a shield I can line my shots, and if need be use my martial arts if a close skirmish occurs.”

McCree thumbed at the small computer attached to the storage shed which recorded the transfer of equipment, allowing them to restock the supplies. “Interesting,” he said. “But that sounds a lil’ dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” Hanzo asked, as he began to load the equipment away. McCree decided he’d help in a moment, after his breath was caught.

“You in the fray. You’re a ranged defence not an offensive.”

“But I can act as offense if needed.”

“Well it’s dangerous.”

Hanzo paused and gave him a questioning look. “It is battle. It is dangerous by nature.”

“It’s safer if we just stick to our roles.”

Hanzo paused to gape at him. “I can handle myself in a fight. You need not worry.”

McCree found himself at a loss for words. Or rather the opposite. He wanted to tell Hanzo that he trusted his battle prowess just fine. But he also wanted to tell him that he _did_ worry. He cared about Hanzo’s safety. But he also trusted him more than any other agent to be the superior fighter against any adversary they faced. Because despite his smug talk, he actually lived up to the expectations he set.

“One of these days, you might just boast your skill too far,” McCree warned.

“What are you saying?” Hanzo asked sourly.

“I’m saying, watch yourself.”

Hanzo turned back to the equipment, shoving it into the shed with intention to finish the job as quickly as possible. “I can care for myself just fine. I have done so for the past ten years on my own and I will continue to do so now, _cowboy_.” The door to the shed swung shut with a metallic crash. “I do not need you do that for me.”

“Whether you want me to or not, I’ll look out for you Hanzo,” McCree said.

“Then do so without insulting my skills.”

“I didn’t… is your ego seriously that flimsy that you’re gonna throw a spat over someone’s borderline concern for you.”

“You need not be concerned. I did not ask you to, and I will not tolerate it,” Hanzo said crossing his arms. In direct sunlight, Hanzo’s glare was even harder to look at directly. McCree on the other hand was grateful for the small refuge of shadow his hat provided.

“Well, tough. I’m gonna be concerned about you, cause you’re my friend. And I care about you. And it’s too late for me not to.”

Hanzo closed his eyes, allowing a deep sigh to pass through him. “This is the stupidest argument I have ever been in.”

McCree let a small chuckle escape him. “Only you could be offended when a fella simply says he cares about ya. Even if he says so in a might unelegent way.”

“Inelegant,” Hanzo said, looking up at him with a soft smile.

“See?”

“Yes, I do see your foolishness, Jesse,” Hanzo said, reaching out to rub at McCree’s arm affectionately. “I have missed you, but if you would excuse me, I would like to go and train. Carrying this equipment has affected me more than I’m comfortable with and I would like to keep my abilities at their best. Lest I accidently boast beyond my capabilities one of these days.”

McCree stood by the shed, waiting for Hanzo to be out of sight before he took off his shirt, glaring at the giant sweat stain down the back of It. “Affected him more than he’s comfortable with,” he muttered. “What’d’he pant under his breath once and think he’s let himself go?”

* * *

 

“Y’know I thought I’d be seeing _more_ of you after you came back from your mission, but this crazy two hour a day training regimen you’ve made yourself is making me doubt that idea.”

“Three hours,” Hanzo corrected, looking up from his hand to inspect the cards laid out before them. McCree’s bed was multitasking as a poker table and chairs, as well as storage for half of his clothes which were shoved around them, acting like a cocoon of laziness. “One hour in the morning and two in the afternoon.”

“You don’t look like someone who just did two solid hours,” McCree said. His own hand wasn’t impressive but it was defendable.

“I had a shower,” Hanzo said, his dark hair was shimmering evidence.

“Honey, I look like a corpse after I work out. And I only do an hour.”

“You must have seen much nicer corpses than I have, to make that comparison.”

It took a moment for the statement to process, and McCree replied dryly, “Wow, what a compliment.”

Hanzo just quirked his eyebrow momentarily, a gesture he had learned from McCree. “I raise fifty,” he said, tossing some chips into the pile.

“Fifty?!” McCree looked to the cards on the table. “How on earth… you gotta be bluffing.”

“I never bluff,” Hanzo said.

“Welp, it’s your funeral,” McCree said, meeting the raise. “Go ahead then, show me what you’ve got.”

“I know what I am doing.”

“Prove it.”

Hanzo placed his cards down. “Straight.”

“No way….” He despondently showed his two pair of sevens and Queens. “Using the straight agenda against me,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Slander. How dare you accuse me of such things,” Hanzo said swiping his stash of chips as McCree began shuffling the cards, the loser’s punishment.

McCree smugly looked at the cards in his hands. “Go on then,” he repeated. “Prove it.”

The chips clacked together as Hanzo crawled across them, closing the short distance between him and McCree to press their lips together with ease. He had seen the kiss coming from metaphorical miles away, yet McCree still felt himself struggling to respond properly. He had only a split second to react, pressing his lips ever so slightly in kind, before the kiss was over. He felt his fingers fidget, almost dropping the cards in his hands. Hanzo’s face, and entire being, leered in front of him. This close, McCree realised just how long and dark Hanzo’s eyelashes were. His eyes were a deep hazel and… was that eyeliner?

“Was that out of line?” Hanzo asked, concern growing on his face.

“No. No not at all darlin’. I wouldn’t’ve been flirting with you if kissing wasn’t on my mind.”

“So, you do? Want a kiss?”

“Like, another one?” McCree asked. His hands continued shuffling cards without proper instructions from his brain, causing several cards to miss the deck and fall onto his lap.

“Yes Jesse. I am asking if you want to kiss some more?”

McCree’s hands froze, half of the deck slipping from them. “Hell yeah!” he lunged at Hanzo, hands attacking his sides, pushing him into the mattress with an unceremonious ‘doof’ sound, as well as the clacking of chips beneath them. Hanzo’s soft giggles were drowned by McCree’s mouth capturing his lips quickly and eagerly. Hanzo’s hands found their way into McCree’s scruffy hair, blunt fingernails searching through his locks in order to massage his scalp. Hanzo hummed contently and the sound sent shivers throughout McCree’s body. That hum was a good noise. He liked it. He really, really liked it. He dipped his tongue into Hanzo’s mouth. He soon felt Hanzo’s tongue flick back in reciprocation before breaking the kiss.

“Jesse, you need to breathe,” Hanzo said. McCree noted the blush forming on the face of the man beneath him. He felt a sense of pride as his kisses could make Hanzo fluster, where searing heat and heavy lifting had failed.

“What can I say-”

“No jokes about taking your breath away,” Hanzo hastily interjected.

“I was gonna say you leave me breathless.”

“It’s the same shit joke,” Hanzo said. He propped himself up on his elbows, causing McCree to sit back. “And besides, I have regained mine and I don’t intend to wait much longer for yours to return.” McCree felt electricity shoot up his spine as Hanzo narrowed his eyes, like a predator ready to strike. The words ‘take me now’ flashed through his mind, and Hanzo seemed to be able to read them, as he chose to pounce.

McCree’s head hit the pillow, a fall Hanzo had so generously calculated, and suddenly they were kissing again. And hands were in his hair and he decided to repay the favour, running his fingers through Hanzo’s silky hair, still partially damp from his shower earlier. And God, he was kissing Hanzo. And he could feel Hanzo smile against his lips and he could feel Hanzo’s hands cupping his face and stroking his jawline and kissing his Adam’s apple before returning to his mouth and when had Hanzo been on top in this situation? He didn’t care. He didn’t care one bit. Kissing Hanzo was better than filling a day’s long nicotine addiction with a good cigar, because he had been craving this since New Year’s Day.     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically I was writing a large fic with an actual plot and was getting bored of not just writing cute scenes between McCree and Hanzo. And so i made these interactions as an outlet for that and somehow weaved them into a cohesive narrative. There is no overall plot besides developing relationships between Hanzo and other characters, but as the story progresses there will be links to events which have happened, ie. New Years Eve.


	3. Lectures, Kissing and Propositioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo has some doubts. People have some more serious conversations about more serious issues. There's also some good hugs and kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied (historical) self-harm. It is very brief and again, just implied. It's not my area of expertise so I don't intend to write on it. Safest to content warn though, happy readings.  
> Also spot my extremely non-obscure, not just implied DVA ace head-cannon

“Hanzo, you are going to work yourself to death one of these days,” Genji chimed in from the weight bench next to where his brother was training.

Hanzo finished his set before sitting up and acknowledging Genji’s comment. “You have been saying that for thirty-nine years, Genji.”

“I would have been saying it for your full fourty-two I had have been there. I am certain even when you were a baby you would have worked too hard.”

Hanzo took the hand towel, dabbing at his built-up sweat. “Some of us still need to exercise regularly to maintain our skills.”

“Yes, but none of us try to kill ourselves in the process… except maybe Reinhardt in regard to his drinking skills.”

“I have become slack,” Hanzo said reaching for his water bottle. “I am not as athletic as I was a year ago. I blame coffee. Jesse has converted me to two sugars a day.”

“I blame the natural human aging processes,” said Genji as his brother drank.

“I am only forty-two.”

Through his visor, the cyborg’s breathing whirred in his frustration. It was probably white noise to Genji, after years of living with it, but to Hanzo it was a constant reminder of their broken and bloody past. “You know those articles about athletic 90-year-olds who swim and do marathons and shit, that’s going to be you some day, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Hanzo said. He thought for a moment and decided that disassembling his weights was the perfect excuse not to make eye-to-visor contact with his brother. “Genji, what do you think of McCree?”

“Jesse is one of my best friends, I think many things of him.” Hearing someone else call him Jesse was strange for Hanzo. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. “He is one of your best friends too, which came as a surprise. Although it really should not have.”

“How so?”

“He’s just good at that. Making people his friends and making them feel like they belong, no matter how much of a cold asshole they are.” Genji said. “He acts as a perfect bridge, the people who are heroes find him likable, and the people with more than shady pasts aren’t put to shame knowing what he’s also done…” Hanzo caught Genji’s head tilted in a way which oozed of ‘I am smirking underneath this mask’. “Hanzo, do not tell me you’re only doing all of this working out so that you will have an abundance of energy with which to fuck Jesse?”

“Genji!” Hanzo huffed. If he were a less graceful and collected man, he would’ve fumbled the weight in his hand. Or perhaps thrown it at Genji’s head. “How much do you know?”

“Jesse’s one of my best friends, of course he asked me before seducing my brother,” Genji said. “So, how was the make out session?”

Hanzo glared at him, although he would rather be glaring at McCree, trying to figure out when and with what reason he had given details of their relationship to his brother. “It was… adequate.”

“Adequate, Hanzo what poetry!”

“It was more than adequate. I… would rather not go into specifics with you.”

“Okay Hanzo, look. Jesse likes you. But I need to know, do you actually care for him in that way?”

“Yes, I do,” Hanzo said.

“From memory you are not the best when it comes to romantic feelings. Especially towards… well...”

“Genji, what are you implying?”

“I care about Jesse,” Genji said, his prior teasing tone was now absent. “I want to know if you actually intend to pursue anything with him. Because he does with you. And it’s easy for you to see people as jokes. And someone like him… I want to make sure you respect him and treat him right.”

“Genji, I care about Jesse. We played poker after I had a workout and shower. I put on eyeliner for the soul purpose of spending time with him. Does that answer your question?”

“Eyeliner, well, cast my doubts into oblivion, it must be love!” Genji said, taunting once again.

Hanzo absorbed the teasing, letting it wash over him and savouring its presence. Some long-missed aspect of having a younger brother. “If you are just about done, shall we have some aiming practice?”

“Sure, but you’re not allowed to use my shuriken.”

“Agreed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo had not expected McCree to come knocking on his door at midnight. The cowboy was not injured, but looked to be in bad shape in every other sense of the word. The swaying in his stance and the twitching in his mechanical arm, along with the redness in his eyes were all clear warning signs.

“Hanzo, can I come in?” he asked, his eyes darting beyond Hanzo, struggling to hold his gaze.

“Of course,” Hanzo said stepping aside. McCree wandered into Hanzo’s room, his rugged appearance seemingly out of place in Hanzo’s neat and organised space, but welcome regardless. He gave Hanzo’s tea set a long studying stare, as if learning all the intricate details carved into it was the most important thing at that moment. Hanzo waited for McCree, who eventually decided that the tea set was as realised as it was going to become, before he sat down on Hanzo’s bed. The springs creaked as Hanzo sat down beside him, uncertain if he should offer a comforting touch or keep his distance. From the close proximity, Hanzo noted the strong smell of cigars and bourbon. “Jesse what is wrong?”

McCree shut his eyes for a minute. When he opened them they were watery and red, the result of supressing tears. “I ah… I’d rather not talk about it. Can you just… talk?”

“About what?” Hanzo asked.

“Anything. Talk about your day?”

Hanzo realised that McCree had sought him out as a distraction. A therapeutic distraction. He wondered how often he would be required to be a comfort for McCree and how often these comforts would be required in the middle of the night. More importantly he wondered who else he would’ve come to, before Hanzo had been around.

“It was fairly uneventful, I’m afraid.”

“Just, walk me through it,” McCree said, drawing his legs up closer to him. “All the boring details.”

“Well I woke, but I wasn’t hungry. I did some meditation on the roof of building 7G, it usually has a good view of the sunrise. Then I ate breakfast. Mei sent out a message requesting assistance in her lab, and I was free so I helped her with some heavy lifting. And then I trained with Hana. I helped her with aim… McCree?” Interrupted by McCree’s silent sobs, Hanzo leant forwards, trying to see more of his companion’s face. A few tears had streaked down his cheeks.

“Naw, keep goin’. What else happened?”

“Nothing. I just… can I kiss you?” Hanzo asked.

McCree tried his best to summon his usual smirk, but the suave allure struggled to find its place on his dishevelled face. “I’ll never say no to that question darlin’.”

Hanzo reached out, angling McCree’s jaw so he could kiss both of his tear stained cheeks, and plant a final, gentle kiss on his lips.

“And I kissed you. It has been a good day for me,” Hanzo said smiling. McCree gave him a shy smile in return.

“What about yesterday?”

Hanzo sat back looking at the ceiling. “I nearly killed my brother again. He has been asking a lot of questions. A lot of very annoying questions. Also, I had a phone call. With Torbjörn.”

“What about?”

“He is in Mauritius with Winston and Satya. They are investigating the robotic technology systems in place there… I can’t remember the details. But Torbjörn found an arrow tip in his turret and he accused me of using it for target practice. I am glad we settled it over international waters, otherwise I am uncertain if I would still be here. He sounded very upset at the start of our call.”

McCree gave another smile, wiping at his few stray tears. “My baby,” he said, a half made attempt to replicate Torbjörn’s accent. Silence fell and Hanzo watched McCree closely. The room was dimply lit by Hanzo’s bedside lamp, but in a room full of sharp shooters, every detail could been seen. This close, Hanzo could see the pores in McCree’s skin and the crow’s feet at his eyes. A light smattering of freckles on his sun kissed skin and red stained eyes which fixated on his mechanical arm. McCree slid his right hand up the prosthetic appendage, before pressing the button at his elbow. A small fizz exhaled, as the suction keeping its circuitry connected undid itself. As the arm was placed down on the bed, Hanzo realised this was the first time he had actually seen it removed. He knew McCree took it off every night to charge its robotic components, however he had never actually seen McCree without it on.

“S’ gonna sound a bit stupid…” McCree began.

“So then tell me something stupid, Jesse.”

“I got uhh… some issues. About my arm. It’s been fifteen-fucking-years, and even now…”

“I have heard of amputees feeling ghost limbs, is it like that?” Hanzo asked.

“Nah. Well… it used to be. When I first lost it. But’s been fine, for years now it hasn’t bothered me. Well, not more than usual. Whatever usual is. Nah, I ain’t had problems with it in a while.”

Hanzo admitted to himself that it looked strange, the absence of the limb. Only one hand rested in McCree’s lap now, and Hanzo decided the best course of action was to take it in his own, interlacing their fingers and rubbing his thumb over the back of McCree’s hand soothingly.

“I had a dream where it was back. I had my arm back and… it was now. Like today. And I was so happy and it felt real. I could shoot with it just to be cocky. And I could go about my day like no big deal. And I could feel it and I could… I could hold you in both of my arms, Hanzo. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“One arm will suffice,” Hanzo said, taking the hand and pressing it to his lips. McCree’s breath hitched and a few more tears escaped his eyes.

“It just… the prosthetic it’s different. It weighs different,” he explained through his duress. “It’s got a slight lag from the brain signal to the actual movement, n’ when I hit it against something, like a bench, I hear the collision but I don’t actually feel it n’ it’s not… real. It’s all of this and its… I don’t know.”

Hanzo rubbed at McCree’s hand, perhaps a little too firmly in his struggle to find a way to comfort, but McCree said nothing of it simply looking at the point of physical contact. “Satya has a prosthetic arm. Perhaps she can relate. When she returns, you should try talking with her about it.”

“Howdy Satya, I know we don’t talk much, but hey, how’s the one-armed life treating you?” McCree said mockingly.

Hanzo smiled at the joke. “It may be a strange conversation to start. However, it would be more beneficial than talking to me about it.”

“Eh you don’t gotta relate to help me. I just needed to clear my head.”

Hanzo stared down at his own hands. Both of them real, living flesh. Despite years and years of danger and close calls, he had managed to keep all of his limbs. In times of extreme torment his dragons kept him safe, and made his body stronger. Sometimes he forgot just how lucky he was.

“I admit, I am not able to relate to your struggle.”

“It’s nothing,” McCree said. “Well not nothing, but it’ll pass.” Hanzo watched McCree’s face, and caught a narrowing of his eyes. “So about the whole, clearing my head a little… got any ideas on how to help with that?”

Although a little obscure, the line managed to strike a jolt of lightening up Hanzo’s spine. He answered McCree’s question by placing his left hand on top of McCree’s right, slowly sliding it up his arm. Once it passed his elbow, Hanzo’s other hand joined on the left, before pausing on McCree’s biceps. He took a moment to admire the muscular form in his hands, before leaning in for a slow kiss. They both pivoted to face each other allowing their bodies to get closer. After their second kiss, they both moved onto their knees, and Hanzo reached out to hold onto McCree’s waist and to pull them together again.

“Your body is perfect Jesse,” Hanzo said, and silenced any response by connecting their mouths. Their kisses remained slow but grew deeper. Hanzo tasted what he presumed was bourbon and cigars. He hadn’t seen McCree smoke in a while, but he was aware that he still did so outside of his presence. He wondered if McCree had smoked to quell his anxiety. He knew many people sought refuge in alcohol during emotional stress, but his own personal experiences had taught him that meditation and sobriety was a much more effective solution. One which often ended with less morning queasiness.

“My knees are startin’ to hurt,” McCree said, their faces still close enough that Hanzo could feel the breath of his words on his own lips. McCree’s cheeks had started to glow red, and Hanzo felt a thin layer of sweat when he brushed a lock of McCree’s fringe aside.

“Are you okay, Jesse?” Hanzo asked softy.

“Yeah, just gotta change position,” McCree said.

“You look flustered.”

“I am. Just cause we’re kissing buddies now, doesn’t mean I don’t still get all nervous around you,” McCree said with a quick grin as he laid down onto the bed. An affectional warmth bloomed from Hanzo’s heart for a few seconds. Afterwards, he reached for the bedroom light, plunging them into darkness save for the glow of aqua lights from the prosthetic on the floor.

“Please don’t be nervous around me,” Hanzo said.

“Can’t help it, it’s called a crush.”

The darkness served as a reminder of how late it actually was and tiredness began to build in Hanzo’s eyes. Lazy kisses were shared from their horizontal position, much to the protest of their necks. Within minutes their actions became slower, and their consciousness began to drift. The sounds of deep breathing, fingers gently massaging skin, and the hum of Gibraltar’s base wide climate control systems served as a soft melody guiding them to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you ever have that feeling where you know your actions are foolish but you refuse to change them, despite your better judgement?” Hanzo asked. Hana watched him curiously as he took an absentminded sip of his tea.

He couldn’t remember a morning where he had woken up so incredibly warm, as he had when waking up next to McCree. The bed was warm, the blankets, the arm, the soft morning kisses.

“Like when you go to all the trouble to make something to eat and it tastes terrible but you keep eating anyway?” Hana suggested. “Like popcorn and chocolate syrup.”

Hanzo gave her a judgemental frown. “I knew you could be silly, but that’s too far.”

Hana stuck her tongue out at him for a moment. “Fine, mopey old man, what’re you actually talking about?”

Hanzo watched the steam rise from his tea for a moment. Warm and drifting, like the drawl of a cowboy’s rumbling voice when first woken for the day. “I think Jesse wishes to date me.”

“And you don’t wanna? You shouldn’t lead him on, Hanzo.”

“No, it is not like that. I do want to be with him. I think. It would be foolish,” Hanzo’s eyes caught hers in their panic. Searching for guidance.

“I could make some joke about how liking McCree is pretty dumb, but if we’re both honest, he’s pretty-” Hana make a clicking noise with her tongue followed by a wink, which served as some form of measurement to McCree’s attractiveness. “So, you’re scared about dating?”

“Scared? In our line of work, it is… immature and irresponsible. There are too many casualties. Relationships make working in dangerous situations ineffective. Caring about some agents more than others, taking preferences ruins battle strategies.”

Hana tapped her finger against the table as she thought. Hanzo noted her perfectly manicured pink nails. He wondered if she had been allowed to wear them in the military. “Han, you already care about him. You don’t really get to logical control over your emotions. I think if you date him or not, it’s gonna get in the way. You already worry about him.”

“I worry about Satya, and you. However, it does not consume me. And neither does Jesse, entirely,” Hanzo said. The words were not conveying his messy array of thoughts, and it begun to frustrate him.

“Yeah, that’s called having friends. Look, our work’s going to be dangerous, but it’s rarely ever life-threatening. You care about us and you care about him, so why don’t you keep on as you are, but get laid in the process?” Hanzo shot her a glare at the mention of ‘getting laid’ but she simply shrugged in response. “That’s what you, non-ace people like to do isn’t it?”

“Your boundless wisdom never ceases to impress me,” Hanzo said dryly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Remember how you once thought you were a better shot than I, gunslinger?” Hanzo said allowing every inch of prideful playful arrogance to radiate throughout his words.

McCree looked at his training company, stood with his back straight and head held high, a new record for Target Practice Sequence 7 flashing his name on the monitor behind him. “Show off,” McCree grumbled, smiling to hide his genuine jealousy.

“There is no issue with showing off, if you have skills impressive enough to do so,” Hanzo said, his smug grin widening. A fire started to burn in McCree, a determination to strive for superiority, and all possibility of being the better man and accepting his losses being abandoned.

“Athena, start Training Practice Sequence 7!” he called, giving Peacekeeper a quick spin in his hand. “I’ll show you who never bluffs.”

A beep sounded and the first target rose from its position on the track. Hanzo crossed his arms and watched as McCree took aim and fired. Bang!

“You missed,” Hanzo said coldly.

McCree took a deep breath. He replaced the fired bullet in the barrel of his gun, finished reloading and said, “Athena, restart the sequence, please.”

A fresh target shot up. McCree took aim, eyes focused on the centre of the target. He had done these a million and one times before. He had landed headshots from nearly twice this distance, in the heat of battle.

Bang!

“You missed,” Hanzo repeated.

Bang!

“You missed.”

Bang!

“You missed.”

Bang!

“You-”

The wind was knocked out of Hanzo’s lungs as he was shoved against the training room wall. There was a loud clattering of a six-shooter falling to the ground. He felt strong hands on his shoulders, pinning him, and McCree’s mouth, hastily kissing at his own, actions driven by frustration and passion. Athena’s voice came over the speakers, asking if they would like to restart or terminate the sequence.

Hanzo dug his fingers into McCree’s hair, curling in response to the pain of his lips being bitten and bruised by a rowdy McCree. He gave a brief grunt, and the sound was successful in making McCree’s movements intensify. He felt hands on his legs, and followed through with being lifted where McCree held him in place against the wall. Hanzo felt himself being sandwiched between the wall and McCree, happily trapped, and he could feel that warmth again. That all-consuming warmth which came with being wanted and came with McCree’s very presence.

McCree broke the kiss for a moment, admiring how skilfully he had unwound Hanzo. Between their panting breaths, he gave a proud smile. “Bullseye.”

 

* * *

 

  
Satya quirked an eyebrow at Hanzo, and Hanzo sassily returned the gesture.

“I am surprised, Hanzo. I had not expected the cowboy to be your type,” Satya said, passing the bottle of wine. Hanzo poured himself a glass before offering his arm. Satya rolled her eyes, but accepted the gesture nonetheless.

“What do you mean by that exactly?” Hanzo asked, as then began their journey, arm in arm, towards her office.

“I knew you were close – but as romantic partners? – very unexpected.”

“Calling us romantic partners would be premature,” Hanzo said.

“For what it is worth, I believe it makes sense.”

“I thought of anyone, you would agree that pursuing anything more with another agent is undeniably a mistake.”

“You balance well together. You push each other to do better.” A touch more coldly she added, “And you push each other into kissing whilst I’m trying to work.”

Hanzo nearly choked on his wine. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday, in the training room. I was updating the training hardware at the room’s control panel. Your shooting was fine, and helpful with the diagnostics I was running. But the making out was a little… disruptive.”

Hanzo felt a faint sting on his lip, momentarily worried that the crack McCree had caused might begin to bleed again. “Why were you updating the hardware? It works fine?”

Satya gave him a look of disbelief. “I was hired, by Overwatch, to work. To update their technical systems throughout the base. To make them more sophisticated. Do you not remember my job? Did you think I was just here to look pretty? Or perhaps a loiterer.”

“Oh,” Hanzo said. They paused outside of Satya’s office as she unlocked the door. “My apologies.”

“No need. It is nice to finally have some stories to report back to the others.”

“Gossip,” Hanzo spat. “My trusted friend, using me for such cruel purpose.”

Satya stood inside, taking a sip of her wine. “You want to hear about Lena got arrested on her vacation with Emily last week?”

For one rare occurrence, the two held eye contact as Hanzo’s face quivered struggling to maintain its serious composure. “Of course I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your choice in weapon is still foolish,” Hanzo said watching the shuriken bounce off of the metal targets at the shooting range.

“Says Legolas,” Genji retorted.

“My weapon pierces metal, yours does nothing.”

“Because I’m not practicing piercing, I’m practicing aiming,” Genji said, frustration rising in his voice. “When I am in battle and moving and can properly fling my arm, they have the force they need to penetrate metal.”

“Why not just stick to your katana like I said. It is far more powerful.”

“Because I cannot risk breaking it,” Genji said, his voice growing more and more cold at each of his brother’s judgements.

Hanzo frowned in confusion. “Then order several, they have good weapons suppliers here,” Hanzo said. “I am sure they will get you decent katanas so you will not put your blade at risk.”

Across the room McCree and Hana talked quietly, occupying themselves with counting ammunition and guns in the supply cage.

“But this is _my_ katana,” Genji said, fingers tapping the blade on his back.

“It is foolish to be attached to one weapon. Even McCree has multiple revolvers,” Hanzo said.

“Not all of us care about McCree’s guns as much as you do.” Genji threw another three shuriken at the target, each of them bouncing off in random directions.

“This is pointless you cannot even tell where they struck. At least get a canvas target.”

“Or you could just let me train, Hanzo. Silently. Judgement free.”

“I was hired for my tactical solutions as much as my bow, is it really so difficult for you to listen to anything I suggest? No matter how foolish your own errands are,” Hanzo snapped. Genji ignored him, and threw another three shuriken, which again, uselessly bounced around at the end of the track. “Not now and not back then.”

“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t listen to you back then,” Genji said. “Otherwise I would have turned out like you were. Obedient little Shimada.”

“Just once, just once! You could have done what was asked of you.”

Genji finally stood up straight to talk to his brother. Hanzo tried to pay no mind to how significantly taller his younger brother was to him. “I cannot believe, even now, you still think me staying as far out of our family’s business as I could, was a bad idea? If I conformed once I would have done it again. And again, and again, until I was no one. Until I became their puppet like you. All emotionless and subservient.”

Out the corner of his eye Hanzo noticed McCree and Hana perk up at the commotion, but he decided to focus solely on his brother. “I was not emotionless, I was professional. And acting vaguely the same would not have killed you.”

“It would have. It would have compromised my personality. Who I was, Hanzo. How can you not see that? You know that that was the last thing I would have wanted. Sure, your personality never meant anything to you-”

“How dare you…”

“-because all you ever were was our family’s lap dog. Doing their bidding regardless of your own want. But to me being unique and my own person meant everything. Losing you was painful enough, but as my brother you should have been trying to _keep_ that cruel fate from me, not actively trying to drag me down into it.”

The brothers stood still, in a deadlock refusing to move. Along his arms Hanzo could feel the dragons coil. Not in anger, but anxious of their master’s feelings. This needed words, not violence, he wished he could assure them.

“I was not a _lap dog_ I was trying to make our father proud and do right by the Shimada legacy.”

“I just wanted to be happy Hanzo.”

“As did I. And making our father proud of his sons, was the most important thing to me. But you could never do as I asked.”

“Because that wasn’t what _I_ wanted,” Genji said. “And for some forsaken reason you could not seem to accept that. You had to always barge in on my life. Berate my actions and my choices. Our father didn’t care what I did, but you always had a judgement or an order.” In the corner of the room McCree and Hana had given up on their work, instead watching the drama occurring nearby, the shouting too hard to ignore. “Genji do this, Genji speak properly, Genji don’t go out partying you’re needed because such and such dumb-ass millionaire is our guest at the castle.”

“I was never on a vendetta to ruin your fun. I just wanted, just once, for you to _try_. There are some things in life more important than partying and acting out. You always neglected your duties. You never got to experience the satisfaction which came with fulfilling your duty. The praise from accomplishment. It was the happiest thing for me, and I wanted you to know it too.”

“I had a right to choose how to live my life. And you did too, but you ignored yours and chose to be groomed instead. I never wanted that life and I doubt you did either-”

“I loved our father!”

“And did you love working for hours and hours every day? Did you love never having a social life, never having a creative streak, never having an original thought?! That life was poison and you wanted me not only to be a part of it, you wanted me to _want_ to be a part of it.”

“I was wrong, and naïve and I did not know any alternative Genji! I thought, I literally thought, working for the Shimada clan was our duty and the only future we could _ever_ have.”

“I tried so hard to show you that you had a choice, and you ignored me.”

“And you ignored _me_. I tried to tell you that working for the family business, that following our elders, doing as they said, was the best life for both of us. It was right for me and I thought it would be right for you to!”

“It wasn’t right for you, Hanzo. It was _killing_ you. How many times did you break down because they made you kill or they made you make decisions no _child_ should ever need to make. Every time it was too much and you were pushed too far I saw. The amount of times I saw you try-”

“Genji!” Hanzo shouted, but his voice cracked somewhere along the way and he failed to make any follow up words.

“No, fuck you Hanzo! Fuck you for trying to recruit me. And fuck you for blaming me for not joining your death-trap of a life.”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you!” Hanzo’s shout came as a fragmented plea, a last desperate attempt to defend the all the regretted actions of his youth.

“How was stabbing me meant to be what was best for me!” Genji’s arms waved in his anger, making Hanzo flinch in their wake. In the corner of the room, McCree held out a hand to stop Hana from advancing any closer. Neither of them dared to make a sound.

“I thought I was helping you,” Hanzo said. “The entire time.” His eyes stung red and he quickly pressed his hands to his face as tears started to roll down them. Frustrated at their presence but demanding himself to follow this argument through.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Genji shouted. While Hanzo was being overcome with grief and shame, Genji had rediscovered a geyser of that pure rage which he had once been flooding with. “Am I making you upset? Hanzo. Is a little mean to say _fuck you_ for all the shit you put me through?” Hanzo realised that not only were the words harsh, but they were in English. Their whole argument had been in English. Because McCree and Hana were present. Because Genji wanted to make a spectacle out of it all.

“I was trying to help… I was… I was a child Genji. And I thought I was wiser than you. And it was my duty to guide you…” Hanzo felt a pain squeeze his heart, violent and bloody memories threatening to make him dry heave until he would spill his insides. Through sobs he repeated the only words he apparently had left, “I thought I was helping you.”

“I wouldn’t conform and so you killed me.”

Hanzo’s body gave in, making him fall to the ground in a trembling mess. At this point McCree darted across the room to intervene. guiding a fuming Genji from the room was like wrestling a kitten, however this cat had thrown all of its shuriken-claws, keeping McCree relatively scar-free. “Come on, settle this another time.”

Before the door closed behind them, Genji’s words directed at McCree travelled through the echoing shooting range. “Now he knows how it feels.”

The sound of the door shutting echoed throughout the large shooting range. Hana was left with a panic stricken Hanzo, trembling on the floor.

Gently, Hana placed a hand on Hanzo’s shoulders, feeling it heave with desperate attempts to breathe. “Shh, shh, Hanzo it’s okay,” she cooed, sitting down next to him. “I’ve never heard you two argue like that before. It was really intense.”

Hanzo lifted his head wiping his face on his baggy sleeves. “We are cruel men.”

“You’re both big softies,” Hana says. “As well as really scary dudes. You’re both kind of like, two extremes of characters mashed into a Shimada sibling duo. It’s gotta be tough to get along.”

Hanzo and Hana sit in silence for some time. The hard metal floor of the shooting range made their legs numb quickly, but neither of them cared to move. Hana had seen many grown men cry in her life time, and she was patient and kind. Eventually Hanzo took a deep sigh ready to address the aftermath of the shit-storm.  
“What I said, about thinking I was helping Genji, even when I was… killing him. It is true. I thought I was doing the right thing. I spent my entire life learning that serving the clan was what a smart heir did. That following the words of your elders was the right and wise thing to do. And my elders told me that fixing Genji, that hurting him like I did, was what he needed. And somehow in my mind, it all made sense. Genji was right, he has always been right. Inconceivable, that a child was better of heart than his older brother, and wiser than all his elders combined. I was smart, and clever, but I was not strong of mind.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hana said.

“How is it not my fault?” Hanzo snapped. “What kind of an idiot cannot see the most obvious mistake he is about to make?”

“A brainwashed one,” Hana said. “And yes okay, it was your fault. But compared to the life most kids get, you really didn’t get a fair hand. It’s time to stop bluffing.”

Hanzo puffed an amused breath. “Bluffing. Fine. Cards on the table. I am a bad man Hana. I have done horrible things of my own accord my whole life. I hurt the people I love and I kill the people who love me.” Hanzo took a long sigh and lets his fingers interlock tightly together. “But right now I need to find Genji.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? He’s probably still worked up from that argument.”

“Yes well, I wish to settle it. I need to tell my brother that he was right. We both failed to protect each other. And in both directions it was my fault.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I sense great unease in you, Shimada-san,” the metallic voice said from behind him. It had not come as a shock to Hanzo, having heard the hum of Zenyatta’s internal motors on approach. Furthermore, this was just one of several attempts the robot had made to build a friendly relationship with him, all to little avail.

“Your wisdom proceeds your reputation,” Hanzo replied dryly. Regardless of Hanzo’s coldness, Zenyatta continued to sit beside him where he was meditating on the floor.

“The Oasis is rather peaceful for a popular city, perhaps the only one in the world where one can find good silence for meditation.”

“This should not come as a surprise, it is called Oasis,” Hanzo said.

“You remind me of Genji when I first met him,” Zenyatta continued. “Full of jokes used to fulfil a desire to argue and provoke.”

“Speak what you wish to say then leave me be,” Hanzo said, patience already wearing thin at the prospect of being lectured. He refused to turn to his company, and deep within his skin he felt his dragons begin to stir.

“I am your medic on this mission. You must trust me, with your life Hanzo.”

“I trust you to do your job.”

“There are many wounds already inflicted upon you. How you speak and act near me indicates that you are hesitant about my presence, but I will always be willing to help you heal that which medical degrees alone cannot remedy.”

Hanzo closed his eyes, focusing on the calming smell of the burning incense, hoping it would mask the smoke of fuming dragons. He had bought the stick just yesterday at a bizarre during their few hours free. It was a unique scent, unlike any he had ever smelt. It was an enriching way to indulge in a new culture. Something peaceful he could take his time to appreciate.

A sudden burning sensation ran up his arm, causing his body to jump, like the shock of touching a burning hot object. The blue glow of two dragons emanated from his tattoo as they manifested into a semi-corporeal being. They only stung so sharply when they pulled free from him of their own demand. When not summoned for battle, they chose a smaller form, about twice as long as a ferret and just as thick. He glared at the dragons, uncertain why they had demanded freedom from their anchor.

“Genji’s dragon did not show herself to me for many years,” Zenyatta said. “It is curious that your two already trust me.” Zenyatta’s assertion held true as the dragons made their way towards the omnic, climbing up his robes and sniffing various parts of his metal framework curiously.

“They have been telling me to talk with you more,” Hanzo admitted. “They must feel their influence was not forward enough until now.”

Hanzo turned to face Zenyatta, placing his left arm on Zenyatta’s shoulder. The omnic heard nothing whilst Hanzo commanded the dragons to return to their master, and reluctantly they obeyed. They climbed along Zenyatta’s shoulders and onto Hanzo’s arm before settling down into his skin. When the of the last blue light had dissipated, Hanzo hesitated, before deciding to keep his arm on the omnic.

“Do not mistake my attitude for lack of appreciation. I am more than grateful for how you have helped my brother. I am jealous even.”

“I understand,” Zenyatta said. “You do not like to hear my advice, but I have been told that you are a man who will listen regardless. I will say this, your anger and prejudice is evident, but it is you, above all others, who wishes it to be gone. It is hard living with traits you dislike about yourself, even though you are a very good at doing so. Existing in such a conflicted state of being causes one much pain. Be honest with who you are, and then work towards what and who you wish to become.”

A soft whir sounded as the Omnic began to rise to his usual height, and he turned and drifted away.

Hanzo gave the incense a lingering look as it burned, bits of grey ash falling and crumbling, like the end of a cigar being consumed by fire.

 

* * *

 

 

It was 1 am when Hanzo came barrelling into the kitchen. McCree took a quiet sip of coffee as he watched the archer make a beeline for the alcohol cabinet. A bottle of bourbon thudded against the kitchen counter and Hanzo paused staring at it. McCree was not sure if Hanzo was aware of his presence at all.

Hanzo’s head was already spinning in its sober form. He felt something run up the inside of his body. Cold and shaking, like an earthquake of emotion. He popped the lid and took a deep inhale, holding his breath to allow for a hearty chug of the bottle. He finally caught sight of McCree, shamelessly drinking down burning alcohol. McCree took a sip of his mug, perhaps judgementally. He had half a mind to ask why McCree was drinking coffee at this hour but instead he took another long swig of his own beverage.

His gasps for air were louder this time when he took a break from the drink. It was when he went for his third drink that McCree’s chair finally squeaked.

“Woah, Hanz, what’re you tryin’ your best to drown yourself? Slow down there,” the cowboy said. The moment the bottle was placed down, McCree took it out of Hanzo’s reach.

“Give it back Jesse.”

“Like hell,” McCree said.

“I am an adult man,” Hanzo protested.

“Yeah, that don’t mean you ain’t prone to dumb-ass decisions,” he said. “Here, I’ll proposition you.” McCree kept a tight grip on the bottle with one hand and retrieved a glass with the other. He put the bottle down next to the sink and filled the glass with water, before passing it to Hanzo. “You drink all of this so you still got a liver by morning, and I’ll let you have one more standard drink’s worth.”

Hanzo crossed his arms and outright pouted at McCree. McCree offered the glass again, and Hanzo took it, drinking half of it in one go. He placed it down and watched the top layer of the liquid bounce back and forth. Keeping his gaze averted, he felt McCree’s eyes boring into him, questioning him without asking anything.

The wave struck Hanzo again and this time he couldn’t stop the tears or the tremors. He hid his face in his hands, although he didn’t understand why he still felt the need to hide. He trusted McCree to never perceive him as weak. Little somethings about old habits dying hard, and one’s life depending on being strong and collected all the time.

When he felt McCree’s hands on his shoulders, he flinched away from the touch out of instinct. It was still not natural to expect comfort in his times of distress, and this realisation made his pain even more intense. A moment later, McCree’s hands try again, slowly putting pressure on his back. Hanzo’s crying became gasps of anguish and his fingers clawed at his own hair, allowing ugly grief to take over him. He felt McCree’s fingers pull the scarf from his hair, combing through the short silky strands, and he finally allowed himself to fall into the warm affection McCree gave.

“I take it somethin’ went wrong with the mission?” he prompted. Hanzo nodded, hoping McCree would notice his response.

“Someone died,” he managed to choke out.

“Aw shit, Hanzo.”

“Not one of the agents. A civilian,” Hanzo sat up again, wiping at his eyes so he could see McCree face to face. “She was a friend of Angela’s. It was my job to watch her, to protect her. I failed.”

“I’m sure you did all you could,” McCree said.

“It was my fault she died. She was under my protection, and I slipped up on my watch and now she is dead.”

“It ain’t your fault Hanzo. Yeah, it’s a right shitty situation, n’ it’s certainly one which warrants drinkin’, but you can’t blame yourself for it. Blame the bastards who actually hurt her.”

Hanzo looked at the water again, both despising and appreciating its presence and the rules surrounding it. “The plan was that I keep an eye on her. And I left to investigate a sound down the hallway. That was against what I was meant to do.”

“You investigated cause you thought it was a threat, right?”

“Yes. But it was not my place to do so,” Hanzo said. An anger rose in his throat, but it was directed at himself, and had no effect on McCree. Hanzo instead stared daggers at the water, as if his scowl could perform miracles and turn it into bourbon. He bit his tongue and swallowed the rest of the glass. The moment it clattered to the bench, he declared his demand. “Alcohol.”

McCree grabbed the bottle again, measuring out a disappointingly small portion of the glass. Hanzo drank it instantly. “Why are you awake, Jesse?”

“I usually turn in at twelve, but I heard y’all was coming back around now. I like to be around when agents return.”

“Have you seen anyone else?” Hanzo asked.

“Only Fareeha, she brushed me off. I guess I now know why,” McCree said, before screwing on the bourbon lid and returning it to the cupboard. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about you drinkin’ it from the spout.”

He made a loop around the bench to grab his own mug of coffee came back to stop beside Hanzo, drinking from it. The man had skipped on sleep to see his friends return home, even if just to be ignored by most of the team. He had a big, caring, patient, kind heart. And now, weary from his own life struggles, he stood beside Hanzo, making sure he… well, Hanzo wasn’t sure why he remained, but he didn’t want him to leave.

All of Hanzo’s muscles ached from the sheer number of hours he’d been awake, making his breathing loud and heavy. Hanzo’s legs had been screaming in pain, demanding rest, and he was sure his head would soon join in on the screaming.

“Jesse… I would like… you have absolutely no obligation, if it is any issue or inconvenience, but I would like to ask you… if you will stay with me tonight.”

“Of course Hanzo,” McCree said, wrapping his arm around Hanzo’s shoulder again.

“I can sleep on your floor-”

“Ain’t no chance in hell,” McCree said. “Nah, we’ll go back to your room, if that’s alright, n’ pop on a film, somethin’ light heated, keep the volume real low n’ let ourselves drift off however.”

“My bed has room for two, it would be silly for us to both sleep on the floor.”

“Whatever you prefer,” McCree said. Hanzo leant further into McCree, letting the cowboy’s body hold his weight for a short while, short rest from bearing all of his burdens on his own, before they both headed to his room.

“I would prefer to hear you talking, rather than to watch a film.”

 

* * *

 

 

McCree told a light-hearted story about a day he spent in Vegas spending an overwhelming amount of Blackwatch’s pitiful funds on Blackjack games, only to double his money by the end of the day. Reyes didn’t know how to react, somehow turning out both furious and impressed. Most of all, relieved. By the end of the story McCree’s voice had grown slower, wearier. He rolled over to remove his prosthetic, placing it beside the bed before staying that way, faced away from Hanzo. Perhaps his hospitality faltered only when he was pushed to absolute exhaustion, and he had fallen asleep.

Hanzo had partially drifted off from the story, the deep rumble of McCree’s voice rocking him like gentle waves, but now he felt alone again and fear shook him mostly awake. He opened his eyes, which were adjusted to the darkness of the room, and tried to make sense of the silhouette of the broad-shouldered cowboy. He watched the rise and fall of his breathing, trying to soothe himself by appreciating the pleasure brought by its very presence.

“Jesse?” Hanzo whispered into the silence of the room, equally afraid of waking the cowboy as getting no answer. To his relief, McCree gave an acknowledging hum. “Can I hug you?”

“Of course.”

Hanzo weaved his hand around McCree’s chest. His arm felt like a deadweight, and he worried about it annoying McCree, but soon he felt McCree’s hand over his, sliding their fingers together. Hanzo felt himself able to breathe again, only to then worry that his breath against McCree’s skin is also irritating. He had the strongest urge to stroke McCree’s chest which rested beneath his hand. To kiss the back of McCree’s neck. To exert more affection. If McCree had done anything for the past several months, it was show that Hanzo had permission to touch him.

Hanzo shuffled slightly further towards McCree, pressing his chest against McCree’s back and immediately being warmed by the contact. It was not quite spooning, until McCree’s hand separated from his and startled him when it gently gripped his thigh. There it guided Hanzo’s leg forwards to intertwine with his own, before is hand returned to rest over Hanzo’s hand. Hanzo took a minute to document his entire situation. Warm, and touching another living, breathing, human being. An attractive man, who was a good friend and more than sweet to those he loved. Hanzo decided the best thing to do would be to kiss McCree’s neck.

He felt himself drift again, content and buzzed from alcohol blocking his hearing and more of the outside world creating a sensory ambiance. It was peaceful for a short while, until the sounds of screams filled his ears from inside his own mind, and he felt blood all over his body and suddenly he was crying and shaking all over again and this night was going to be an emotional rollercoaster which lasted forever. The alcohol was meant to dull his emotions, but instead it made their exposure all the more intense. As he began sobbing, McCree rolled over, still awake and holding Hanzo close and rambling soft calming words.

“I heard her scream,” Hanzo said, unable to hear the particulars of McCree’s words, nor be entirely sure he was not speaking over them.

“It’s okay Hanzo. It’s all okay now.”

Hanzo had long lost track of time. Now he fought to try and see his hands in the darkness. Trying to remember that they were clean. Trying to remember the moments after Angela’s friend had finally lost life, and her wails of pain and fear had ceased.

“I heard her scream until the moment she died.”

“She’s at peace now Hanzo. Ain’t nothin’ you could do.”

Screams and silence. Screams and silence. No, he didn’t want the silence. The silence was worse. The silence is what came after it was too late. When all the life had slipped away.

“I thought I’d never hear him again, Jesse. I thought. His screams were all I had left. And his silence was all I’d have. I heard him laugh. I… I listened to him scream until he…” Hanzo’s tears and snot soaked into McCree’s chest. Greif, and frustration and embarrassment, and boyish crushes all flooded and wracked his body. “I’m sorry Jesse. You should go. So you can sleep.”

“I’m stayin’ right here, Hanz.”

“I am not worth your time. I won’t get better.”

“Not about getting better. You need someone with you, and here’s right where I’ll be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I ain’t.”

“I’m… sorry.”

“Now listen here,” McCree’s hand was on his face then, lifting his head to make Hanzo look at what was visible of his face in the dark. “Got some advice for you. Instead of saying sorry, try saying thank-you when you actually mean thank-you. People like hearin’ it better. N’ it’s extra important because you have a right to have someone with you. You’re allowed to be an inconvenience, Hanzo. You don’t gotta apologise for existing. Try saying thanks instead.”

Hanzo took a deep breath in, and wiped at his face trying to dry it with the back of his hand. Trying his best to make himself somewhat less of a disgusting mess, before he kissed McCree’s mouth. “Thank you.” He kissed McCree again. And again. In the haze of alcohol he wasn’t sure if McCree was reciprocating, or simply having a very salvia based experience.

“Hanzo you should try n’ get some sleep.”

“Yes,” Hanzo said, trying to make out the cowboy’s facial details in the darkness. “Please, understand. My affections are true for you in my sobriety also.”

“Let’s leave them for sobriety then,” McCree said, stroking some of Hanzo’s hair from his face.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, settling down into the blankets again. “Thank-you, Jesse.”

“G’night Hanzo. N’ thanks yourself.”

“What for?”

“For letting me in. It ain’t easy accepting help, trust me I know. But I’m glad you did.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo woke up about a billion warmer than he thought humanly possible. He rolled away from what was most likely a furnace beside him. As he opened his eyes a smidgen, pain like a crown of needles shot through his skull. He let out a groan and a mass beside him shuffled.

His eyes snapped open as he realised that that was in fact McCree, in his bed, beside him. He wondered when he would finally grow accustomed to the intense warmth the other man provided, or if he would always be a magnificent inferno.

Hanzo was a wise man. Quite the intellectual capable of intricate thoughts and strategic processes. “My head fucking hurts,” is what he said.

“Yeah I bet it would,” McCree said, stretching out a yawn. “I’ll go grab you some painkillers n’ water.”

“No!” Hanzo took hold of McCree’s shoulders keeping him in place. McCree watched him, waiting for further instruction. “I am technically sober now,” Hanzo said.

“Yes?”

Hanzo leant forwards and kissed McCree, and this time it was clear that McCree kissed him back. McCree’s one hand found its way to his back, pulling him in closer. McCree tasted terrible, but the imagery of his broad shoulders and large biceps kept Hanzo strong. More importantly Hanzo thought of how very _there_ McCree had been last night, and still was, and Hanzo’s heart began jackhammering with glee from the display of it all.

“Hanz, your breath smells terrible,” McCree said, pulling off a scowl and a smile.

“Good morning to you too,” Hanzo said. The stinging of his hangover was growing harder and harder to ignore. “I could really use the painkillers now. There’s some in the bathroom.”

McCree climbed out of the bed, but luckily there was a plenitude of lingering warmth in the blankets to keep Hanzo comfortable. Soon he was passed a glass of aspirin water and painkiller, which he downed quickly. He was basically a professional at hastily consuming liquids by this point.

“Gotta get you something to eat too,” McCree said, climbing back into the bed. Hanzo placed the glass on the table beside his bed before sinking down into the blankets to face McCree.

“In a little while,” he said. While keeping his eyes open made the headache sting, he was content to simply gaze at his company. He didn’t think he would ever be fully finished appreciating the cowboy’s company. “What is this?”

McCree frowned slightly.

“Between us,” Hanzo clarified.

“Friendship?” McCree offered. Hanzo chuckled despite it making his head pound. “Hey, I like to think we’re friends.”

“We are certainly friends. I would safely say, we are more than friends. Jesse, how do you usually comfort your distraught team mates?”

“Somewhat the same. Spend the night watchin’ films, or playing games, talking. Usually the hugs stay fully clothed and the kisses stay strictly in forehead town.” McCree’s hand came up and his finger rubbed at Hanzo’s cheek. “There’s some of them which don’t like touchin’ at all and that’s fine. I just listen to what they need to say. Some of them drink so I keep an eye out.”

“You are a good man, for caring so deeply. If you are upset, I wish to do the same for you.”

“I’d really appreciate that.”

“So, my affections are appreciated?”

“So long as mine are too,” McCree said. “Question, do you want to keep them private?”

“Satya saw us making out in the shooting range the other week.”

“That was unintentional.”

“I am aware. I do not really care who knows, about us I just do not want us to become obnoxious.”

“Fair enough,” McCree said. “Although I’m still gonna be a total sweetheart to you. Sickeningly so until Lena starts fake gagging.”

“I except you to live up to that promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

“This 76 business is doing my head in,” McCree said as he locked Peacekeeper’s container, revolver now in hand. “I’m glad it ain’t my mystery to solve.”

“It is curious he contacted Overwatch,” Hanzo said, leaning against the building behind him. They had decided to train outside that day, taking advantage of the warm weather Mexican sun. “As Satya stated, Vishkar is who to contact for technology. Power can be found there too, or elsewhere, like Talon, or even Los Meurtos.”

“The Shimada Clan,” McCree added, before firing his first shot at the training dummy.

“There are far more powerful families in Japan now,” Hanzo said.

“None of ‘em have dragons.”

“Dragons only bring so much power on an international stage,” he replied. “Overwatch by no means has any money. His message made his intentions sparse at best.”

“Or hers,” McCree said. “This vigilante, 76, could be a lady. All we know about them is they have short hair, broad shoulders and an ass that looks half decent in combat gear.”

Hanzo crossed his arms with a curt, “Hm.”

“Not as nice as yours darlin’ I swear.”

“You are lucky that you are the one with the gun,” Hanzo said. They fell into silence as McCree continued firing. Hanzo’s gaze drifted from the training range to their surroundings. They were at a secluded and secure base, about half an hour drive from Dorado city. It was one of the few missions where both McCree and Hanzo had been assigned together, along with eight other agents.

Months of work had gone into this mission. Tracking invoices which didn’t add up, money which came from nowhere or disappeared without proper receipts. All leading to a factory in Dorado responsible for producing illegitimate omnics, which Overwatch had been given the job of putting down. There were two possible outcomes for the confrontation tomorrow. Either the owners of the operation will resign and agree to be taken in for trial, or the far more likely outcome of a fight. Worst case scenario, an entire factory’s worth of servant bots try to kill them in that fight.

Hanzo looked back to McCree who seemed almost bored with his training. Shooting a still target on a still day was something he could do in his sleep. He pictured McCree in a warehouse surrounded by omnics programmed to kill him. Six bullets against how-many hundred machines?

“Heya Hanzo?” McCree’s voice spurred him out of his overthinking, and instead he was cautious of its timid tone.

“What is it?

“I’ve been doing some thinkin’ about us.” McCree holstered his gun before reaching to his head to take off his hat. “And I know it could potentially cause some problems with work an such but I really like this. Like just spendin’ time with you.” His had began to rub at the back of his neck but he held his posture, looking directly at Hanzo. “Did you wanna be my partner?”

“I have been expecting you to ask me that,” Hanzo began. He let his thoughts momentarily return to the image of McCree surrounded by omnics, screaming his final battle cry. “I agree, that perusing a relationship could have many issues.” In his imagination, McCree’s chest bloomed with red bullets. Hanzo expelled the image from his mind entirely. “However, leading lives like ours, we rarely find partners with compatible lifestyles. Lena is devoted to her partner; however they rarely have time to see one another and perhaps dating a civilian is even more dangerous than one I trust to take care of himself. But all of that is beside the point. What I want to say is, I have given this much thought.”

“And?”

“My conclusions change each time.”

“Well, which of your conclusions do you like the most?” McCree said, voice cautious but remaining hopeful.

“I am very fond of you, Jesse McCree,” Hanzo said. “I do not know how to… what to do with these feelings.”

“You should prove it,” McCree said. Hanzo looked at him curiously. “Go ahead, prove just how fond of me you are,” and with a smile he added, “Go on a date with me.”

“Okay, I will prove it. I will go on a date with you, Jesse. Although perhaps after our mission is complete.”

 

* * *

 

 

Who was Reinhardt Wilhelm? He was a large man with a larger voice. He had the mane of a lion and the heart of someone far braver than one, old battered and wise, yet full of life. He was a legend.

“You are well known in Japan,” Hanzo said, his voice only a little winded from the fast pace he had to traverse to keep up to speed with the giant steps. Despite his armour, Reinhardt walked with ease, helmet in one hand and giant hammer in the other.

“I have never been to Japan, just how famous am I?” he asked, kindly playing along with the odd conversation starter.

“Not quite a celebrity but you are known. What is it like, to be known around the world?”

“It was more noticeable in the glory days. But it matters little how well known you are, but for what,” Reinhardt said. Hanzo could hear that tone, the one where people wanted to lecture him. However, Reinhardt was considerably older than him, and he felt that he could tolerate it far better than an omnic half his age trying to do the same.

“You are an Overwatch legend. A hero who fought well and for a good cause,” Hanzo said. He turned his attention to the pinatas hanging above them. The whole city was beautiful, dressed up in preparation for the Festival de la Luz. It would be tragic and ironic for the celebration to be ruined by a Los Muertos led omnic assault. Around them, people gave confused looks towards the heavily armoured man and bowman passing by, unaware of the imminent danger one of the nearby buildings held.

He was certain the onlookers knew they were a part of Overwatch, especially considering how recognisable Reinhardt was. It was strange, being stared at, not as outsiders or as murderers, but as protectors. Was this the path to redemption? Working for an organisation which used his skills to destroy bootleg omnics. Would this make him a better man?

“It must be nice,” Hanzo continued. “To live as you do. As a man who has made the right choices in his life.”

Reinhardt’s typical smile finally fell into an almost glum melancholy. “Everyone has regrets, Hanzo. Yes, yours are different than mine, but no one is perfect. My legend builds me up to be much more than I am. Time can change the labels of what is a good and what is an evil man. There are some who will never forgive you for your past, and others who have already chosen to love you despite it.”

“I do not deserve it. I am not a hero. I am not a part of your fairy-tales and fantasies about defeating evil and saving children.”

“You do not choose whether others see you as a hero or not. Even the worst people are admired. It is up to you to be the role model you want. What lessons does a perfect man have to teach? Nothing. I am not what those legends say I am, but if people need me to be a beacon of hope and glory, I will happily oblige.”

“And what lesson do I teach? What child will read about me and become inspired? And inspired to what action?”

Reinhardt let his mind think on the question. They checked their map, verifying that they were at their target location for the first phase of the mission.

“Okay agents,” Winston’s voice commanded them over their coms, “Ten minutes until confrontation, but be prepared and vigilant, especially attack teams. Negotiations can turn ugly in an instant, over and out.”

Hanzo and Reinhardt checked the time and began their wait. During his time as a solo-assassin, Hanzo had spent many hours simply waiting. The act of waiting before an assault was rarely boring, but in the presence of team mates, it was a far less stressful ordeal. It would be foolish to say any time before battle was peaceful, but in a way it was at least meditative.

“Doing what is right, despite what you have done. Expecting no forgiveness, but doing what your heart tells you, you must do,” Reinhardt said. “Or something along those lines. That is a good lesson.”

“I am not selfless. And I am not political.”

“Then why are you here, Shimada Hanzo?”

“Because Genji is here.”

“Are you here to protect him?”

“No. I am simply here because he is also. I want to be near him. It… It is the only time I know who I am, when he is near. He is my brother and without him I was lost. I seek him to rediscover who I am.”

“You will find your meaning, Hanzo. It will take time, but you will find who you are and why you fight. Legacies are out of your control.”

 

* * *

 

 

The strike team get caught in a crossfire. Nothing too life-threatening, just a minor skirmish between their team and the agents they had been tracking. If anything, Overwatch were the ambushers with the upper advantage. Hanzo, acting somewhat literally as an upper advantage, provided cover-fire. He held a safe position, as a silent and invisible supporting killer. Not a front line solider, like McCree.

He missed one arrow, aimed at an agent who was firing on McCree. The arrow distracted the agent however, causing her bullet to miss McCree and instead destroy some nearby rubble. Hanzo retrieved another arrow, ensuring that his body and mind were focused on the weapon. He drew the arrow, creeping out of cover and aiming. This time he will not miss.

The arrow pierced the woman’s skull, splashing her blood on the pavement, before her body fell too. One death of countless many, it left no impression on him. Hanzo did not break concentration, performing his job until the fight was over, however he couldn’t help but chastise himself. That woman should have died with his first arrow fired. McCree could have died from this mistake. How would he live with himself if any of his co-workers – his friends – fell in battle because of his ineptitude? The fear of the death of another loved one being his fault, was a fear which threatened to consume him whole.

His team deserved better than a faulty archer. McCree deserves better. He pressed these concerns to secondary thoughts, primarily focusing on the task at hand until the last of the agents surrendered and were disarmed. While lives taken were never an ideal outcome, the rest of the team seemed rather satisfied that the robots had remained deactivated. Zenyatta especially seemed adamant that none of the innocent omnic bystanders should have been harmed during their operation. While half of the team split to take care of the surrendered criminals, Hanzo regrouped with the ‘clean up crew’.

“Hey Hanzo.” McCree’s face was covered in sweat and dirt and blood was drying in his beard, yet his voice still remained lively through his battle-weariness. “We still gotta sort out going on that date.”

Hanzo felt something inside of him churn, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the gore display before them.

“This is hardly the time or place to discuss this,” Hanzo said, unstrapping his quiver.

“Well, no time like the present,” McCree copied Hanzo, taking off his gun holster and reaching for the medical gloves in Mercy’s first aid supply kit. He tossed a pair to Hanzo. Beside him, Pharah was helping Mercy assess the bodies of the agents they had just killed. “Although I’ll agree, not the best place for planning romantic ideas.”

 “Yes,” Hanzo said firmly. “Can we _please_ discuss this later. Perhaps after we finish our mission report. And have had a long, decent shower,” Hanzo said. Working with Overwatch was the first time he had had to be a part of a clean up crew, a grizzly yet necessary job of documenting corpses and possibly saving the lives of people they had been shooting at only minutes ago.

“Yeah, think the bodies have ruined my appetite anyway,” McCree agreed, before allowing Mercy’s orders to instruct him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Angie, what do you think of Hanzo?” McCree asked. The doctor closed her laptop, keen for any procrastination from her study of micro-organisms in radioactive environments.

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

The cowboy gave a frown and a smile at the same time. “I dunno, do I?”

“I think he is cold and rude and he has never thanked me for dinner when I was on cooking duty,” Mercy said, crossing her arms.

“He’s just a lil shy. I’ll talk to him about that dinner thing though, that’s pretty shit. Besides his questionable manners, is there anything you really don’t like about him.”

“I think he is a man who is only loyal to himself. Look what happened to Genji? I have no doubt that he could turn on anyone if it suited his interests.”

“What they got is complicated, Angie. And it’s got to do with indoctrination and grooming and a whole mess of childhood issues which’s between the two of them and the Shimadas.”

“I am a doctor, Jesse. And while I am not perfect, what he did was vile.”

“So… what I’m getting is you pretty much hate the guy.”

Angela sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. “I do not hate him. I just do not like anything about him.”

“Okay Angie but consider this. I really, really like him. And have you seen his biceps.”

Angela gave McCree the sassiest look she could muster. “Ah, I should have known your penis was mastermind behind this conversation.”

McCree cracked a smile. “I really like him Ang. It’s taken some time, but he’s come outta his shell a lil. And Ang, he’s getting better. He’s learning how to be a better person and how to rely on people and how to have them rely on him. And he listens when I talk and he laughs at my terrible jokes. And when he talks about Japan he gets lost in his words and when he talks about his childhood he gets lost in his sadness. And Ang, Angela. I want to kiss that sadness away.”

“Jesse, that is just about the sweetest and gayest thing I have ever heard. And I have heard Pharah talk about Satya for literally hours now, so you have got some decent competition.”

“Angie, I want to bang his sadness away.”

“I regret this entire conversation.”

“I know it won’t make the sadness go away, but I’ll keep on trying. And maybe make him forget it, along with his own name-”

“Jesse!” Angela shoved McCree’s shoulders. “Shut up.” And at that they both started giggling. McCree sat down on the floor in front of Mercy’s chair, cross legged. “Listen, you do not need my permission to have a relationship with Hanzo.”

“I know Angie, but you’re my friend, and I respect your opinion.”

“Okay. In all fair honesty, I do not know Hanzo very well personally. I have worked alongside him and he is professional. He is skilful and does offer help when we are on the field. He keeps an eye on me and I am aware of an arrow or two which may have cleared paths saving me time to accessing injured patients. How he will treat you as a romantic partner, I am uncertain. But you are a very perceptive person and I trust your instincts.”

“I have a real good feeling about him Ang.”

“Well then, above all else, from what you have told me, he makes you very happy. And that is all that matters in the end.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Anija, you need to stop this childish behaviour,” Genji shook his head to emphasise the embarrassment he felt on his brother’s behalf.

“It is not childish,” Hanzo said. “His intentions have become too clear. His words are less than subtle. The moment I see him next, he will say something and I will respond poorly and then I will never be able to show my face ever again. It is self-preservation.”

Genji paused at the doorway to his own room, allowing some final words before they parted ways. “You are a skilled fighter Hanzo, but you know as well as I that it is only a matter of luck that we were not the bodies being removed from Kings Row last night.”

“Sweet dreams to you too, Genji,” Hanzo said dryly, shutting his brother’s door for him. Memories of the violent, emergency mission lingered for a moment. It had been a horrific fight, but one he was sure would join into the mess of other traumatic experiences he had learned to live with.

He made his way down the corridor, however before he even reached his room he had made up his mind, and continued walking past his door. Most of the doors on base were just numbers to him, B14, B15 and so on. He had only seen the inside of a very few, and room B17 was one such room. Even standing at the door, which was identical to the others save for the label on the front, Hanzo felt a sense of familiarity. This room was a place he could always call home. McCree had made sure that he knew that.

He pressed the buzzer. A moment later the door slid open and the eyes of one Jesse McCree widened at the sight of him. Apparently had it been anyone else, he would’ve been comfortable to be seen in boxer shorts, with an open shirt and a cigar hanging from his lips. The overgrown stubble completed the look. Despite how dishevelled McCree was, he made a desperate attempt to straighten himself at the sight of Hanzo; running a hand through his hair, pulling his shirt closed in an attempt to hide his love handles and searching frantically for a place to stub his cigar. He decided his prosthetic arm was the best option.

“H-howdy, Hanzo, it’s mighty late to be makin’ a surprise visit, everything okay?” the cowboy stammered through his mild panic. Hanzo wondered if, like he, McCree needed time to put on a social personality before facing people. Once again that fallible line between introvert and extrovert grew blurrier in Hanzo’s understanding.                                                                                                     

“I have been thinking,” Hanzo began.

“Righto,” McCree prompted, his words and timing lacking in grace. Hanzo continued regardless.

“Life gets in the way of things. And in Overwatch there is so much life and so much getting in the way and I thought it would be for the best if we stopped letting it. Get in the way, that is.”

“Yep,” McCree said, feigning understanding.

“Dinner, tomorrow. I will come to your door at six,” Hanzo said authoritatively.

McCree’s eyebrows shot up and suddenly he tried twice as hard to hold his shirt closed. “Yep. Okay. Good. I’ll be there. Here. I’ll be. Got it,” he said, giving a quick salute, and then frantically pulling the shirt closed again.

Hanzo smiled at the cowboy’s antics and he felt the urge to kiss him rising. “I’m glad we are at an agreement,” he added, before turning to leave. “And you do not need to hide your body from me Jesse, I find it a very pleasant sight.”

“Hey, Hanzo?” the cowboy called after him. “On a scale of Taco Bell to… uh… napkins made of golden silk placed on our laps by a monkey waiter – how fancy is this dinner’s dress code?”

“I am choosing the restaurant. What level of formality do you think my preference would demand?” Hanzo asked, giving him a pointed look.

“Right, got it. Suit, tie, bells n’ whistles.”

Hanzo stepped back towards McCree, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching onto his toes to kiss his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter begins with a date <\- long time coming


	4. Dating, Confessions and Some Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a romantic date, and some romantic sex, with some afterglow afterthoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Sexy times! As you know by now this fic is very  
> -  
> segmented  
> -  
> so the steamy section is recluse and very clearly built up (no surprise butts) and skippable if you so desire. There will be mature conversations later on in the fic tho so sex is not completely separable from the story.
> 
> oh and there's only one other explicit scene planned for this fic and it is wayyyy shorter than this one

McCree let out a low whistle, to try and mask the fact that his brain had short circuited in its task of taking in Hanzo’s immaculate appearance. The suit was shaper than one of the archer’s arrows, and beneath it he wore a deep red shirt which had the top two buttons open, showing an inkling of the intricate dragon tattoo beneath, begging to have his collar bones nibbled at. If McCree let his thoughts linger too long on what body lay beneath all those fine clothes, he was sure a whistle wouldn’t suffice as a distraction for long.

“You clean up well cowboy,” Hanzo said, clearly able to keep his cool in a more suave manor. “You manage to make a rugged face look classy, quite a talent.”

McCree was sure his face was burning up and he had the sudden desire to return Hanzo the favour. Luckily, he had come prepared, and willed his robotic arm into movement, presenting the singular rose he had been hiding behind his back. “For the gentleman,” McCree said, pulling a smirk onto his face.

“Which one?” Hanzo said, taking the rose to hide his growing smile, before hooking his arm with McCree’s. Together they strode their way through the base, encountering a pyjama clad Tracer zipping about for 7pm cereal, and a Satya who didn’t even notice their formal attire, lost in her own thoughts and calculations.

They made their way to Gibraltar’s garage space, and in his pockets McCree retrieved the keys for the car he had registered for hire the day before. Although not bought for leisurely use, Winston admitted that the cars had remained dormant, due to the limited operations of the organisation, so “What the heck McCree, take the Porsche”.

“Could’ve chosen one of the bikes, n’ had you hugging round my waist as we rode,” McCree said as he held open Hanzo’s door. Hanzo gave him ‘a look’ trying to decide if the gesture made a joke of their date. He conceded that it was just flattery, and bent into the car, rose securely held in hand. Once McCree sat down on the driver’s side of the car, Hanzo responded to his comment.

“I believe a bike would result in the tragic loss of your hat.”

“Ain’t wearing my hat, sweetheart,” McCree said, brushing a hand though his hair, before he focused his attention on the navigation settings for the self-driving car.

“So you are not. I knew something about your appearance was off,” Hanzo said. McCree stared at him, hopeful that he had finally caught the moment Hanzo would admit his true feelings towards his usual appearance. “It unnerves me. Wear the hat next time. At least on the journey.”

A grin slowly spread across McCree’s face, and he pressed the ignition button of the car, making the engine hum to life. “I knew you liked it.”

“You are a twenty-first century vaquero, Jesse. I, of all people, appreciate traditional culture.”

 

* * *

 

McCree turned the contemporary-classical channel up a little too loud for comfort, Lana Del Rey echoing throughout the car as it sped along the highway. Outside it was pitch black, only the headlights showing a slither of tar road ahead of them due to the lack of reflectors alone the obscure roads. The dashboard of the self-driving car kept a scanner, prepared to adjust speed and direction for any disturbance along the travel.

It was an hour long drive, taking several decoy routes as per safety protocol, before they saw the hint of a small shabby town.

The car drove on, whooshing past suburbs towards the closest city, at least a further forty minutes away; Hanzo stroked his hair and McCree fiddled with his cuff links, arm hanging out of the window, and the metal making a strange whistling noise in the wind. They remained mostly silent, occasionally sharing opinions about the music, but never speaking for long enough to hold conversation. They both knew how exhausting the rest of their lives were, and how much they both needed some pressure-free time to simply exist in each other’s company. It was a companionable silence, and they could both tell how much each other loved it.

Hanzo wandered what it meant. To be in this sort of relationship. Most agents engaged in small talk. Or talk of work which died when the task at hand was complete. But there were a few who he truly communicated with. He had sat for hours with Genji, meditating, or casually speaking of home. He had sat for hours with Satya, sharing tea and secrets they’re both ashamed of, but also proud to call their own. He’d sat for hours with Hana, playing video games, and on the rare occasion, sharing war stories, comforting each other with mutual understanding, mutual experience and mutual pain.

And he had sat for hours with McCree. Talking about movies, missions, playing cards. But they had also sat in silence. Hours and hours of mutual silence, occupying themselves. And even without a word spoken, the time felt valuable. Like they were growing closer, bonding just the same as any other form of interaction. That meant something. It meant companionship. It meant home. It meant…

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo said as the current song dipped in its final few bars.

“Hm?” the cowboy perked up.

“I think I am in love with you.”

McCree smiled a soft smile, looking out across the front windscreen once more. “Date’s barely even started, I thought you weren’t so easily impressed, Shimada?”

“I am not,” Hanzo said, his eyes remaining on McCree’s face. “You are simply as good as you say you are.”

 

* * *

 

 

McCree’s face flushed bright red as Hanzo held the restaurant door open for him. He swore to get revenge by tucking Hanzo’s chair in, however as it was a five-star restaurant, a waiter stole that chivalry from him.

The table was small with a pristine white tablecloth, crystal wineglasses and silver cutlery. “Any were-wolves get in, we’ll be safe,” McCree whispered, leaning across the table. Hanzo snorted, and the waiter gave a confused glance, placing menus before them. Around them, the restaurant was lit by hundreds of fairy lights dipping from the ceiling, and a candle in the centre of the table flickered. McCree felt the warmth of the candle in his own chest as he watched the flame reflecting in Hanzo’s hazel eyes. Hanzo caught him staring, glancing up from the menu to give a soft smile.

“I highly doubt you’ve decided on what you want yet?” Hanzo said, knowing the cowboy and his mighty stomach all too well.

“I know exactly what I want,” McCree said, voice low to match the quiet atmosphere, rumbling with his smooth southern drawl. Hanzo shook his head slowly, but his smile grew wider. “For all their fancy lights n’ paintings, you’re just bout the prettiest thing in this place.”

Hanzo put his menu down, tilting his head at his date. “ _Just ‘bout_?” Hanzo questioned, the slang sounding strange in his accent, but oddly endearing.

“Well, b’sides myself of course,” McCree said, throwing a wink.

“I thought we already established that _I_ am the pretty one, and _you_ are the rugged handsome one,” Hanzo said, more than displeased to be stripped of his title of ‘prettiest man in Overwatch’ by his dearly beloved.

“N’ why can’t I be both?” McCree asked.

Hanzo rose to the challenge. Back to the competition it seemed. For all their checks and balances, they couldn’t go one evening without starting a new contest. “Because then I would be left with less. I would only be the pretty one, and you would be more.”

“Hmm, not my fault I’m an all ‘round ten outta ten,” McCree said with a shrug and a smirk.

“Did you only compliment me in order to justify complimenting yourself so immensely?” Hanzo asked.

“This perfection can’t go unacknowledged Hanz,” McCree said.

“Then I have failed my job, if you feel as though you have been underappreciated,” Hanzo said. “I will have to try harder.”

“Naw darlin’ it ain’t like that, I was just playin’-”  
“Say no more, Jesse. I enjoy a challenge,” Hanzo said taking the menu once again, hiding his face as he schemed ways in which he would show his cowboy what for.

The dinner proceeded with tiny overpriced dishes, a doting waiter, wine and morbid jokes for men who lived a life far more gritty than the walls of the restaurant would show on display. Eating with one hand proved to be an interesting challenge, as Hanzo gave up his right hand to hold McCree’s prosthetic one on the table. McCree, who was adept at eating with only one hand, tried his best not to laugh throughout Hanzo’s display.

Hanzo paid the cheque, trying his best to keep the amount of digits hidden from McCree. He remembered stories of McCree being frugal during his time in Blackwatch, and on his own. And in his childhood. And sticking to budget missions for Overwatch. Hanzo was keen to spoil his cowboy, but decided it best to slowly ease him into the world of frivolous spending, lest he have to deal with McCree having a heart attack.

The outside air was cold, and as they walked through the town, Hanzo and McCree clung to each other’s arms for some form of warmth, as well as the general pleasure of contact. McCree crushed the last of his cigarette on his prosthetic hand before tossing it into a bin they passed, and Hanzo knew that he had chosen a good man, with a good heart, who most importantly wasn’t a litterer.

As they walked on, McCree’s breath continued making clouds in the chill of the air. Hanzo’s own breathing was too shallow for anything to be noticeable. Around them was a nature park, decent in size and lit by streetlamps. They followed a cobbled trail through the trees, listening to the call of night-time insects and birds. After hours of talking at dinner, Hanzo had run out of words to say, but McCree did eventually speak.

“I suppose I should ask ya the big question?”

“Maybe we should try dating before engagement?” Hanzo said.

McCree almost choked on air, stopping in his tracks to stare at the man by his side. “That’s what I meant! I was going to ask you t’ be my boyfriend,” he said. He added a grumbling, “Damn Shimadas, insult your aim and then go ahead and jump the gun,” under his breath.

Hanzo laughed, unrestricted from the social custom of using an inside voice, before he reached up to touch McCree’s grizzled cheek. To his delight McCree’s face softened into a smile and he leant into the touch. “I would love that. And I have a big question of my own, Jesse McCree.”

Hanzo’s eyes bored into him, and combined with the eagerness to hear Hanzo’s request, Jesse felt his insides burn up. “What’s it, darlin?” he asked.

“It is late, but I was wondering if by the time we returned to the base, you would take me as your lover.”

“Never had someone ask me to fuck them in such a poetic way,” McCree said. He was certain his face was burning up now. It was cold, so it was reasonable to have a blush to his skin. But how, and _why_ , did Hanzo have to seem so collected and unphased all the time?

“Fuck,” Hanzo said articulating the word. “I prefer it your way. Will you _fuck_ me, Jesse McCree?”

McCree wondered why he could not have a semblance of the poetry with which Hanzo spoke. Especially in times of crisis, like now. He settled on, “I’d do it here if it weren’t so damn cold.”

 

* * *

 

 

The hour-long ride back to base was psychological torture on McCree. Anticipation and excitement had tingles constantly running up his skin, and he couldn’t keep his imagination from briefly jumping to things he wanted to do with, and to, Hanzo. The moment he imagined feeling the archer’s breath on his, or kissing along the tattoo, or even Hanzo unbuttoning his shirt, his dick would twitch and he would intensely avert his mind elsewhere, not wanting to physically get ahead of himself.

Beside him, Hanzo’s leg bounced quickly, and his fingers drummed on the obsolete steering wheel. Knowing that Hanzo was in much the same predicament gave McCree comfort, and he took it as a compliment.

When they returned to the base it was 1 am, and the halls were empty. They quietly and hastily traversed the corridors, hearing music and chatter from two of the rooms they passed. The moment the door to Hanzo’s quarters slid shut, McCree grabbed him by the waist and pushed him up against the wall. Hanzo’s body thudded against it, the sound of solid muscle hitting a solid surface and all McCree had to do was imagine that sound over and over growing faster and faster as he fucked Hanzo, and his dick rose to attention. He unashamedly pressed his full body against Hanzo, letting him know just how excited he was as their mouths came together. Hanzo’s hands gripped the back of McCree’s shirt pulling him closer.

Hanzo’s stolen breaths were heavy, and when McCree pushed his tongue against Hanzo’s, that sound turned to a soft hum of encouragement. They both shrugged off their suit jackets and untied each other’s ties, while holing the kiss as best they could. The kiss grew warmer as it grew deeper, and the taste began to merge into one shared flavour. McCree’s head started spinning, overwhelmed and far too happy to finally be kissing the archer in a sexual manor, and not just whatever fooling around they had done prior. His mind came back to reality when he felt Hanzo’s hands grip his cheeks and break the kiss.

“Jesse,” he said, and McCree loved the sound of his name on Hanzo’s lips and he loved the feel Hanzo’s panting breath against own wet lips. McCree also noticed that he had finally succeeded in making Hanzo blush. “I hope you are not upset, but I have changed my mind. I want to fuck you, not the other way around.”

“You can do anything you want to me, Hanzo,” McCree said. Hanzo’s face twisted into a cruel and hungry grin. McCree’s body was jelly in Hanzo’s hands, he would’ve gone anywhere he was directed to without hesitation, but Hanzo was a fighter. And he was horny. So the hands on McCree’s shoulders pushed him with unnecessary force, until the back of his legs found the bed, and shoved his body down onto the mattress. A quick push against his knees made him skittle up a few inches before Hanzo climbed over him and settled down, straddling his waist.

“Like a cowboy,” McCree said with a chuckle.

In his usual slow and collected tone Hanzo responded, “Ye-haw.”

And damn that stupid word should not light a fire in McCree’s heart as strongly as it did. He reached up and took the scarf from Hanzo’s hair, watching dark locks fall around the archer’s neck. His fingers ran along the silk, noticing a black threaded stitch at one of the more frayed ends, before he threw it aside, focusing on something far more interesting in front of him. McCree reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Hanzo’s ear.

“Gotta see your beautiful face.”

Hanzo ran his fingers through McCree’s untameable hair. “You have made my job easier by keeping yours short. I am ensured a pleasant view.” Hanzo’s hands then moved to McCree’s shirt, undoing the buttons from the top down, before pulling the shirt open. McCree indulged in the feeling of calloused hands running up his hairy chest, before Hanzo bent down and kissed at his sternum. When he sat up, his eyes remained fixated on the cowboy’s chest, fingers trailing over pale scars, tickling him occasionally. “Someday, I want to know the stories of how you got each of these.”

Ungraciously, McCree responded, “Can I see yours?”

Hanzo’s eyes looked up at him, but his face was still directed at his chest making his grin look extra sly. “You have already seen it before.”

“So has all of Overwatch. At least half of it. Listen, darlin, no one gets tired of seein’ you shirtless, least of all fella’s you’re currently using as a couch,” McCree bartered.

Hanzo shook his head slowly, giving his eyes a brief roll as he undid the buttons of his own shirt. The moment the shirt was shrugged from his broad shoulders McCree’s hands slid up and over various muscles and his infamous pectorals, and the archer no longer restrained his responses to the contact, humming and hissing when parts of him were rubbed and pinched. McCree’s right hand ran over the tail of the dragon tattoo, and then down Hanzo’s arm, before taking his hand and pulling it to his lips. He kissed the back of Hanzo’s knuckles and then smiled against his fingers.

“Hanz,” he said. “You’re really hot.”

“I am aware,” Hanzo said. “You are very attractive yourself, Jesse McCree. And I intend to take full advantage of it.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment and McCree had the strongest urge to say more. Something about how his feelings were more than just sexual. That he doubted his feelings would be anything but complicatedly affectionate towards Hanzo. He wanted to say so much. But he decided to show it instead.

He moved quickly, eliciting a yelp from Hanzo as he wrapped his arms around his body and tipped him over. Looking down at Hanzo he wasted no time pressing their lips together. He broke the kiss for a moment to quickly pull his shirt fully off, and then when he pressed his chest against Hanzo’s, pure desire ran through his mind. Touch as much of this man as you can.

“Hanzo, I could kiss you forever and it wouldn’t be long enough,” McCree said, satisfied that his brain had come up with some form of poetry in the past few hours. Hanzo shut his eyes, kissing blindly and sloppily around McCree’s mouth. “I mean it Hanz. I’ve wanted you the day I first challenged you to a shoot off. I wanted to fuck that smug smile off your face, and then kiss a happy one back onto it.”

Hanzo’s eyes remained firmly shut, trying to kiss at McCree. “Implying my smug smiles are not happy?”

“I know they are,” McCree said. His face became extensively wet as Hanzo kissed it all over. “You damn well enchanted me with your talents. And the way you seem to just ‘get me’. I never had a friend like you. You’re something I’ve wanted in my life for a long time.”

Beneath him Hanzo’s breathing gave a slight hitch, but he continued his kisses.

“Hanz? Are you okay?” McCree’s tone quickly shifted into panic.

“Yes,” Hanzo said. McCree pulled back revoking Hanzo’s outlet of kissing distraction. Hanzo reluctantly opened his eyes blinking out a tear from each of them.

“Hanz?” McCree asked, panic rising in his voice.

“Damn you cowboy. Your sweet talk is too powerful,” Hanzo said, laughing shakily as he wiped at his face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” McCree said.

“It has been an emotional year. And this is new for me; fear and happiness go hand in hand,” Hanzo explained.

“Something new?” McCree asked, almost short circuiting at the possibility that… no way?

“I mean the affection and being in this relationship, not the sex,” Hanzo clarified as he sat up. “I have not been with someone I truly care about in a long time. And more importantly, someone who cares for me.”

“D’you like it?” McCree asked.

“It is overwhelming, but I adore it.”

“Good, then I’m doing my job,” McCree said, giving Hanzo a quick kiss. “As your boyfriend.”

Hanzo ran a hand down McCree’s cheek giving his beard a light scratch. “If it is all the same to you, I would like to continue.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” McCree said. They both shifted into a kneel, wrapping their arms around each other’s backs and pulling close, pushing half naked bodies together. McCree’s fingers felt scars down Hanzo’s back, but this sense was rapidly losing prominence, as the feeling of his erection being extremely close to Hanzo’s became the overpowering focus in his brain. Hanzo seemed to be in a similar mind, reaching down between them to undo McCree’s belt and his own pants. McCree decided to return the favour, but going a step further to pull Hanzo’s pants all the way down. McCree felt Hanzo’s voice hitch through the kiss, as two hands, one flesh and one cold metal, took a firm grab of his ass.

“That metal hand of yours is frozen,” Hanzo hissed.

“Hang on, there’s a setting for that,” McCree said, pulling his arm in front of him. He pressed one of the glowing buttons, and waited a few seconds for it to warm to body temperature before his hands resumed their previous hold.

“The wonders of modern medicine,” Hanzo said before reconnecting the kiss. He briefly remembered a conversation about robotic prosthetics belonging to the work of the engineers, not the doctors, but the joke was solid enough.

As they kissed, Hanzo’s fingers twisted into McCree’s hair, trying to knot themselves in, and tug at the locks. Eventually getting bored by his hair, Hanzo reached down to play with a more interesting part of McCree’s body. McCree’s knees were growing sore and weak, but all care about this pain slipped him his mind as Hanzo pulled down his pants to give his dick a stroke, slow and delicate due to the lack of lubrication.

He could hear McCree’s breath shiver, slowly unwinding and strength in his body slipping. Hanzo’s neck tickled as McCree’s beardy face buried into it, humming pleased noises into his skin. While one of McCree’s hands travelled up the dips of his back muscles, the metal one remained on his ass and Hanzo was more than happy to be desired in such a dirty and unashamed way.

Hanzo let go of McCree, reaching up to slip his index into McCree’s mouth, and then his middle finger alongside it. A string of saliva connected McCree’s mouth and the fingers for a moment as they were extracted, and Hanzo’s other hand held their bodies close together. McCree felt Hanzo kiss his neck, before resting his head on his shoulder. A moment later he felt Hanzo’s hand on his ass, and a finger press against his hole.

“Is this okay?” Hanzo asked, kissing his neck again.

“Not a fan of the position,” McCree said. “I’d rather be lying down before my legs turn to jell-o. And I wanna be lookin’ at you.”

Hanzo retracted, putting a hand on McCree’s shoulder and guiding him to lie down on the bed. Hanzo removed his own pants and underwear and McCree decided he would very much like to do the same. Before he needed to, Hanzo did it for him, tossing them aside onto the floor. Out of sight, out of mind. No obstacles left. Hanzo knelt between McCree’s legs, and McCree looked down to finally see Hanzo completely naked. It was a great view, and better than anything he had previously imagined.

“You are gorgeous,” Hanzo said, hands running over the soft insides of McCree’s hairy thighs. Hanzo liked the juxtaposition of their bodies. His skin was golden, smooth and chiselled, while McCree’s was tanned, hairier, and had a layer of pudge over it. He wanted to slap McCree’s skin, see it ripple from the contact, but he struggled to find a way to ask it in a sexy manor. “How do you feel about pain, McCree?”

“Not entirely comfortable, not entirely against it. Depends on the situation, and who. What about yourself?” McCree asked. His fingers were interlaced over his stomach, tapping against his belly as he was unable to reach Hanzo to occupy them otherwise.

“I enjoy it.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Both. But only one role at a time,” Hanzo explained.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” McCree said. “Can we just do the nice stuff tonight?”

“It is all nice stuff,” Hanzo said. “The pain is only done for both of our pleasure. But, it is not for tonight. Tonight, we enjoy each other’s bodies, and my insatiable desire for me to be inside of yours.”

 McCree threw his arm over his face, trying to find an excuse to break the direct gaze of the archer. A moment later he felt a kiss on his stomach, below his belly button. And then another on his inner thigh near his knee. And then another on his hip bone. As he moved, Hanzo’s loose hair tickled the sensitive areas his head passed. When McCree opened his eyes, he saw Hanzo’s head between his legs, looking up at him waiting for his attention. When he gave it to Hanzo, Hanzo bent his head down, without breaking eye contact, to plant a slow and affectionate kiss onto the tip of his dick.

As the lips lifted from him with a wet noise, McCree’s brain ensured that he understood the full implications of the situation. Hanzo Shimada, heir to a criminal empire, richer than all of his life assets combined, deadly assassin who could kill any man in an instant, most attractive, well-dressed, well-muscled, most talented, funny, beautiful, sweet and dangerous man, Hanzo Shimada, was knelt between his legs, desire fully trained on him.

“Honey, if you want this to last, you better take your face away from there,” McCree said.

“I am tempted to kiss you again, just to see what would happen, but I will heed your warning. You know your body better than I do, although I intend to become a studied expert on the topic.”

“Hanz, how have I heard you say the most terrible puns imaginable, yet when all my brain power has gone south, you’re givin’ me poetry like that?” McCree said. As he began to ramble, Hanzo shuffled to lean over to the bed-side drawer for the classic bottom of the sock drawer hidden lube. He resisted the urge to give Hanzo’s exposed ass a quick slap. Instead, he said “Think I might cause my body to short circuit if I try anything more than word vomit. You deserve the smooth-talking gentleman I usually am.”

“ _Gentleman_ ,” Hanzo scoffed the word playfully. He sat back up, and watched McCree. Somehow, in that moment, the sounds of Hanzo’s fingers rubbing lube across them became the most sensual sound McCree had ever heard.

“Dammit darlin’ all my brain is shouting at me is ‘I need this man inside of me as soon as humanly possible’.”

A cold finger pressed against him, making his body tense for a moment. He felt Hanzo warp his other arm around his leg, and a kiss was planted to his knee.

“Shall I get started then?” Hanzo asked.

“Please,” was all McCree could say. One finger slid in easily, but as it was the first it had a significant impact. Instantly, McCree’s nerves shifted their attention, taking delight in the penetration and the expectation of what was to come.

“Look at me, Jesse,” Hanzo demanded. McCree hadn’t even noticed his eyes slip shut, but at the order he opened them again and locked eyes with Hanzo. The finger slid partially out, before slowly delving deeper. Soon the movement became repetitious and slightly faster, but still teasingly slow. When Hanzo finally slipped a second finger inside of McCree let out a moan.

“I have never been with someone so vocal with their pleasure,” Hanzo said. McCree’s eyes slid shut again and he gave a slow hum in response. Hanzo loved it. He loved the sounds, the loved way McCree’s metal hand gripped into the sheet beneath him. The way he kept trying to close his eyes to focus on his physical pleasure. Hanzo stilled his hands, leaning forwards to take McCree’s lips in his own. After the kiss he whispered, “You get nothing unless you look at me, Jesse.”

McCree’s eyes opened again, bending his will to conforming to Hanzo’s demands in order to receive more, desperate for the touch to continue. Hanzo retracted his index finger, using the reach of just his middle finger to push deeper into McCree. He bent his finger until Jesse’s body shivered and a moment later a moan passed his lips along with a deep shaky exhale.

“Does that feel good?” Hanzo asked.

“Like heaven darlin’,” McCree said. Hanzo reached for the spot again, revelling in the way sweat began to form on his lover’s skin. With each moan, Hanzo’s smile grew wider, and the sound made his own dick twitch with pleasure and anticipation. Yes, he very much liked having a lover whom he cared about.

He took his fingers out, their wetness and muscle cramps no concern to him as he leant forwards to kiss McCree. He loved the way McCree kissed him back, even in the midst of his pleasure frenzy. He loved how they both hummed at the contact. He loved being with Jesse.

He sat up and pulled a condom on, before lubricating his hand. McCree’s fingers drummed against his thighs as he waited, watching Hanzo lubricate and stroke himself. Hanzo was as quick as he could be, eager to return his attention to his lover. They both shuffled to reposition, and Hanzo took a hold of Jesse’s waist, lining up his dick to McCree. He held McCree like that, kissing the cowboy’s face, and feeling McCree’s fingers run up and down his back.

“Do you want me, Jesse?” Hanzo whispered.

“You know I do,” McCree responded.

Hanzo pushed inside slowly, and he felt the fingers on his back pause to dig into his skin. The intense warmth and tightness made Hanzo release a necessary the groan of pleasure. McCree reciprocated the sound, followed by a long and deep “Fuck,” as Hanzo slid into him. Like all of McCree’s content words, it was sensual music for Hanzo to listen to.

Hanzo whispered Jesse’s name. Lost in the bliss, it was simply a declaration of pride towards his chosen partner. Hanzo kissed McCree’s neck as he pulled out. He took a deep breath, smelling McCree’s cologne, and he slowly pushed in again, going slightly further this time. By the third thrust he was all the way inside McCree.

He loved the sounds McCree made as he fucked him and he replicated them, hoping the cowboy loved hearing him too. Soon McCree’s groans turned into rambles, “Honey. Darlin’. Fuck! Sunsh-ine. Hanz. Sugar. Hanzo! Fuck.”

Hanzo’s body, inside and out, could only feel McCree’s warmth. McCree’s arms and legs wrapped around him, trapping him in a place he had no intention to leave, getting lost in the rumble of his voice and smell of his sweat. Knowing that his thrusts were responsible for each sound of pleasure McCree gave him, made him swell with pride and pleasure of his own. And he fucked McCree as deep as he could, trying to get closer, closer, closer to this man whom he cared so deeply for. His best friend, his greatest comfort. Each thrust drew Hanzo closer and by the time McCree said his name again, he let out a long groan as he came. McCree held onto him tightly though his climax, and wrapped his arms around Hanzo when he collapsed onto McCree’s chest. His thrusts became lazy as the last of his orgasm played out, and his whole body became overcome with exhaustion.

It took a short while for his head to finish spinning, and slowly he began to notice the fingers of one of McCree’s hands stroking through his hair, waiting for him to collect himself. “I got you Hanzo,” McCree said, voice soft and soothing. “You’re beautiful, honey. Your voice is gorgeous. I want to see you like this as often as you’ll let me.”

Hanzo took a few more moments, catching his breath and regaining control of his consciousness, listening to the heavy heartbeat beneath his ears.

With a great sigh, he heaved himself up, pulling out of McCree – careful to keep hold of the condom as he did – and disposing of it in the bedside bin. His attention immediately returned to McCree, grabbing his face for kisses and wrapping their legs together. He pulled McCree over, making McCree lean over him on his hands and knees, leaving enough gap for Hanzo to reach down and take care of him.

Their lips remained connected and Hanzo felt and heard McCree moan into his mouth when he came, swallowing the sound greedily. Hanzo continued stroking as McCree came onto his stomach, and while McCree’s kisses became lazy and distracted, Hanzo kept his side of the job up kissing and stroking McCree as he rambled senseless words. As his dick grew soft, McCree’s body began jerking from the pain of oversensitivity. He withstood it as long as he could before firmly taking Hanzo’s hand to stop his torture.

“Honey, you could kill a man like that,” McCree said. His face was bright red, and his short hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He watched a sadistic grin twist onto Hanzo’s face. “You’re utterly evil, aint you honey?”

“Yes,” Hanzo said. He leant forwards, taking McCree’s shoulders and inviting him down. McCree’s full weight collapsed onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around his cowboy, giving his nose a quick kiss. “Did you like it?”

“Best I ever had,” McCree said.

“You are a flatterer, but I do not appreciate inflated compliments.”

“I’ll inflate it all I like. As long as it’s with you, it’s the best I’ve ever had,” McCree said.

“I feel as though you still have sex brain, and may just be struggling to recall a better experience?”

“I can’t recall a damn thing right now,” McCree admitted. His head fell onto Hanzo’s chest, as holding it up at that angle was too painful on his neck. He let all of his muscles relax and melt around the archer and the moment he did he realised how incredibly exhausted he was.

“You should go pee before falling asleep, Jesse. It’s healthy.”

“Health be damned, you’re the best pillow I’ve ever had.”

“I will still be your pillow, but I also need to pee and I would rather not disturb you once you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Mmmmmmmkay,” McCree slowly rolled off of Hanzo, and allowed the archer to take his hand and pull him out of the bed and to his feet.

 

* * *

 

 

Groggily they both cleaned up in the small ensuite of the room. McCree spent about two seconds brushing his teeth before he decided he had done the job well enough.

When they returned to the bedroom, McCree took his prosthetic arm off and climbed under the covers, enjoying the warmth of the blankets, as his blood had finally cooled from the heat of sex. True to his word, when Hanzo joined him he laid down on his back so McCree could drag his half-asleep body on top of his chest and finally fulfil his dreams of using Hanzo’s breasts as a pillow.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said, his voice weak from overtiredness too.

“Hanz,” McCree answered.

“I am barely awake, and the afterglow has destroyed my logical brain, so I am just going to say it. I love you.”

McCree hummed in response his brain already slipping into unconsciousness. The words repeated over and over in his head, processing and repossessing until they lost all meaning. A final ditch effort of his mind said, ‘ _You need to respond to that, Jesse_.’

“I’m going to marry you some day, Hanzo.”

And then he fell asleep.

But Hanzo realised that all hope of him getting sleep that night was immediately lost.

His mind focused those words, completely awake all of a sudden. Beginning the long journey in accepting the realisation that yes, McCree _will_ someday be his husband, or no one else would. And this was his only train of thought, as the late-night hours slowly drifted to dawn.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day was a lull for Hanzo. After a restless night and a declaration with infinite implications, he went about the day like a man awoken and lost in an alternative world. McCree had pulled on boxers and one of Hanzo’s shirts, before kissing him and sheepishly dashing out of the room to go prepare for the day with his own equipment in his room. A shameless walk of shame.

Everyone went about their day like any other, with nothing out of the ordinary. Except for Hanzo, because for him, everything had changed. He really should be used to his whole life turning upside-down and shaking into a completely new playing field, after all of the twists and turns which had been thrown his way recently, but this was yet another new path for his life entirely, and just as foreign as all the rest.

People he was merely acquainted with, like Reinhardt or Mei, nodded or gave a simple hello as they passed by him. People he knew better, like Symmetra or D.va, tried to talk with him, gossip or debate whatever it was they were interested in, but he found himself at a loss for ability to contribute. And when he saw Genji, despite having his face hidden, he somehow gave Hanzo a knowing look of ‘You fucked my best friend, didn’t you?’. Purely coincidently, he didn’t encounter McCree.

By late afternoon he stared into a bowl of rice which was totally untouched. A headache had begun to weave its way into his brain, demanding he get some sleep. But stress, anxiety and nerves kept the idea of doing anything remotely healthy at bay. He put the rice down on the balcony and left. He began to walk, mind drifting with the waves of the sea far below the Gibraltar base. Soon he found himself at the cliff side, and began his journey traversing the rocks. He had hiked along these paths many times before, seeking answers, or simply solitude. He wasn’t sure why, he just needed to run away. The thought of returning to the base made his head hurt and his stomach churn.

A while later he was finally far away enough from the base to have all sounds of its industrial systems far gone. Only the sounds of the seaside and occasional wildlife, and the smell of salt air filled his senses. The sight of rocks and waves and the feel of a scarf tugging at his hair in the wind. He realised that it was from the moment he had finished making love to McCree, that he had needed to bolt. He had needed to run away and be alone. And cry.

McCree had panicked when he had started to cry, but in the moment, making love, he wanted to cry all the more than a few loose tears. As deep ragged breaths were sucked in, the tears turned his slight headache into a splitting migraine. He fell to his knees, slipping for a moment on the rocks, and allowing them to scrape at his legs. His life had been a tug-of-war of extreme emotion and completely indifferent feelings. Taking lives heartlessly, and ending others’ which had destroyed him. Taking lovers he didn’t know the name of, and now one he thinks plays an inseparable role in defining part of his identity.

He dug his fingers into the solid rock below, knowing that no matter how hard he held on it would not crumble.

He wanted to hold McCree forever. As tightly as he could. Knowing it would hurt his lover, but knowing that Jesse would let him dig into his back until he bled, if need be. He wanted their bodies wrapped together forever. He wanted the world to know that he was his lover, his best friend, his pride and joy. He was the man who brought him peace, and happiness.

Through blurry vision Hanzo opened his eyes. The afternoon sun blinded him but he kept his eyes open towards the same sun he had seen all his life, but now it shone on a new world.

 

* * *

 

 

“I thought there was nothing in me except bitterness and death,” Hanzo said. “But you, being so easy to love as you are, showed me there is something beautiful in me. I love the affection I feel for you. I am proud of who I am once more, a feat and dream I had long abandoned.”

The cowboy gave a short ‘ahem,’ on the other end of the phone line. Hanzo wiped away his tears, keeping his breathing silent so McCree wouldn’t know or worry. An old habit of hiding his weakness, rather contradictory alongside his recent declaration.

“M’glad you can appreciate yourself,” McCree said earnestly. “And I’m glad I make you happy. You’re a great man, and you’re worthy of love. I don’t want you to forget that.”

Hanzo tilted his head to the phone, as he would do if it was his lover’s hand. Dark silky hair draped around it momentarily, before the rampant wind of the seaside whipped it wildly about.

“You comin’ back for dinner?” asked McCree, a little concerned. The sun was just about to set, and already the evening was growing cold.

“No,” he said.

“Are… are you alright?” McCree asked.

“Yes. I just need to think about some things.”

“M’kay. Where are you, Hanz? Are you safe? You need me to come get you?”

“I am nearby. I will return. Jesse, is it okay if I stay in your bed tonight? I feel as though I will need your warmth.”

“It’s always open for you, darlin.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always practice safe sex. Make sure there's consent throughout, especially with people you're new with and might not recognise the feedback of yet. Have fun.


	5. Growing, Anniversaries and Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree and Hanzo grow closer together. Mercy does some doctoring. A guest arrives on base. And Fareeha deals with manly angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW. descriptions of blood and injury, implied/mentioned historical domestic violence (brief, non-descript)

“I feel like a different man, entirely,” Hanzo said. It was the dead of night, and exactly a week had passed since their first date. Already they had grown accustomed to sleeping in each other’s arms, and waking up like that. They had created a morning and night routine, shuffling clothes and toiletries between rooms.

“It’s like that ole hatchet conundrum,” McCree replied, very tired but more than willing to listen to the ramblings of his lover, as neither had any commitments the next day. “You know, where you replace the head, and then a lil’ while later the body, and you wonder if it’s the same hatchet you started with?”

“Interesting. But my body is the same. I do not believe in a soul, but I feel as though something is different. My outlook on life? My feelings towards others and myself? My hopes and aspirations? Who knows.”

“You’re body’s the same huh? You ever considered changing your appearance?”

“I have not always looked as I do now Jesse,” Hanzo said, amused. “It is simply the same body I started with.”

“Yeah I know, but I reckon you’d look great in a cowboy hat. _Only_ a cowboy hat.”

Hanzo swatted McCree’s bare chest playfully making them both giggle like idiots. “Maybe for your birthday.”

“Heh, I’m just saying. Maybe stepping away from all that traditional stuff you were raised on would be good for you. Your tea and your meditation and your boob-shirts.”

“I thought you liked my boob _-_ shirts?”

“I love a very specific part of them. Listen I just really want to know who you are. Without all the tradition and expectations and rules,” McCree said. Hanzo slowly ran his finger along a scar which dug across McCree’s pectoral. Someone long ago had tried to kill his lover by slashing a dagger at him. And they had successfully drawn blood. “You perform your traditions, but you can’t let them define you. That’s who you were raised to be. Way I see it, there’s no point having children if all they’re going to do is the exact same shit as their forefathers. You’re so much more than those dances your family taught you to perform. You’re so much better than anything they tried to shape you to be,” McCree planted a kiss to Hanzo’s forehead, ignorant of the front current crossing his face. “You’re free of their judgement and their rules. You’re the Shimada boss now. So, don’t let your fears and traditions hold you back.”

“That is who I am, Jesse. I am my traditions,” Hanzo said. “I am proud to carry them on.”

“It’s something that been eating at me since we first met. The way you still let all these imaginary things restrict you. You’re afraid to step outside the box they drew for you.”

“I am so glad I started dating a friend of Genji’s,” Hanzo said dryly. “Now I can be taught the same lesson twice as often.”

“You gotta see it too. The way you still cling to what they called valuable. You wanna know what matters to me. Above your skills and your tactics and your business prowess. It’s your affection, your humour, your heart. You call yourself Shimada, but I’m in love with Hanzo.”

“I am proud of those things too. More so than you can imagine. But very well, Jesse. I will consider what you have told me. As long as you consider this,” Hanzo said, sitting up in the bed and jabbing a finger into McCree’s chest. “When we get married, you will be a Shimada too. You will learn about my heritage and regardless of whether you like it or not, you will teach Genji’s children, or our children, or whoever will happen to be the next generation of Shimada about it.”

“Okay darlin’. Also, no children talk at 3 am. That’s a recipe for a terrified, sleepless cowboy.”

“Good, it will be payback.”

“For what?”

“Never mind. But also. When you become a Shimada, I want you to know. You will be the best, most pure hearted person to bless my family name.”

“I ain’t no ray of sunshine, Hanzo. I’ve done a lot of shameful things.”

“I know. That is one of many reasons why, from my perspective, you are beautiful.”

* * *

 

Hanzo scanned the fridge, getting disappointed with each passing second. To his dismay the was no pre-cooked rice. There was also no soy milk. Rather than cook a fresh batch of rice, he resorted to eating dry cereal for breakfast. It was the end of the Overwatch financial month, with food supplies expected in a week, so until then he would have to be less fussy and make do with any form of nourishment.

Of those who also ate breakfast around 8 am, they seemed to be coping with the limited menu with oats, canned fruit and other food which had a long shelf-life and poor appeal. He crunched at the dry cereal, pondering if the pains of lactose intolerance were actually a worthy price to pay for having cereal properly, when his self-destructive thoughts were interrupted by McCree’s voice behind him.

“Mornin’ darlin, didn’t hear you slip out,” McCree said. Several tired eyes looked their way briefly, the curiosity of an on-base romance clashing with the disinterest brought by morning tiredness. McCree was completely dishevelled as he preferred to dress properly after breakfast and coffee on those days which didn’t begin with immediate missions. “And happy anniversary.” This got the rest of the eyes to fall on McCree, most shocked of all was Hanzo’s, who would have spit out milk if he had only had any to begin with.

“We are not married?” Hanzo said, not sure why his statement came out as a question.

McCree let out a bellowing laugh, “I know that honey buns.” On McCree’s plate was two rice crackers, both slathered with Vegemite. The Vegemite jar was practically untouched by anyone other than Junkrat, so it is understandable why it was one of the few remaining condiments. Desperate times. “I mean our _meeting_ anniversary, two years ago today you and I first introduced ourselves.”

Very slowly Hanzo said, “Okay.”

“I was gonna tell you last year, but you were on a mission and I had a hangover. Our anniversary is the day after Fareeha’s birthday, so hangovers might be a predictable issue. Lucky for us this year the rocket queen’s on holiday.”

“Heaven forbid you purposefully choose not to get drunk,” Hanzo said.

“Only for special occasions. And only _that_ drunk for Fareeha occasions,” McCree said, taking a strong swig of his coffee to mask the taste of Vegemite.

“Well, you will have to forgive me. I did not get you anything for this _special_ occasion,” Hanzo said. McCree reached into Hanzo’s bowl taking a piece of dried cereal for himself.

“No worries, I’ll give you a heads-up next year,” he said, throwing Hanzo a wink to deter from the food theft.

Hanzo gave his eyes a roll as he ate another spoonful of dry cereal. Somewhere in the mess of chaotic memories his past two years in Overwatch had brought him, he remembered a brief and confusing exchange about Genji and McCree’s anniversary of their first mission together. McCree’s voice playfully singing, ‘Twenty years strong.’ Something in his mind sent off a warning signal that this was not going to be a small one of McCree’s quirks.

 

* * *

 

Everything was blurry and it took a long time for Hanzo to make out the shape of the glowing combat medic framed against the night sky. While his body was heavy and weary, he willed himself to take constant breaths, despite how physically taxing the task was. To breathe, deep and heavy, and to keep on breathing. It was necessary to keep his body strong.

“Mercy?” he asked, although the sound didn’t reach his own ears. He was reluctant to try the speech again, as that would use up more of his hard-earned breath. The woman shifted to look down at him, and she really did look like an angel through the delirium of bleeding battle wounds. His hearing returned slowly, but mostly in the form of a buzz in his left ear.

“Do not move Hanzo. I am patching you up,” she made sure he remained still before disappearing out of his range of vision again. He felt exposed, which he clearly was, lying on the floor injured and without a weapon within reach. In a moment of panic he found himself resisting the urge to spring to his feet to recover his bow.

The sound in his ear grew louder.

He admitted it _was_ advantageous to be able to temporarily relinquish his end of the fight. To have another set of eyes watch out for him in battle, and to be allowed to take a break for the petty excuse of being severely injured. It was a very pleasant change from the solo missions of his past, where fighting with broken limbs was the only way to survive, and the wounds would bleed until the job was done.

“Is the pain too much?” she asked.

“I do not feel anything,” he said.

“Good, I hoped there was enough sedative.”

“I need to sit up. And the noise is…” Hanzo tried to think past the pressure of blood following gravity in his head. Mercy stopped what she was doing, and helped prop Hanzo up against a wall close by, careful to keep his leg mostly still. When his head stopped swimming, he opened his eyes.

Blood was no foreigner to him, although seeing it gush from his own body was a rather upsetting sight. More impressive was Mercy’s perfect stitching running up more than half the wound.

“You said something about noise?”

Finally, he could hear the sound clearly. It was McCree. Shouting at him through his ear piece. Rambling on and on and demanding to know what was happening with his injured boyfriend. Hanzo reached up and took the device out.

“Next time tell him not to worry. His incessant concern is sweet, but far more painful than the wound.”

Mercy finally caught on and giggled for a moment returning to her work. “I will keep that in mind _next time_.”

Hanzo tried to watch her work, but seeing the needle go into his skin and not feel it at all was far too much for his blood deprived, concussed mind to handle. In a matter of minutes Mercy was finished stitching, wiping the blood away and properly disinfecting the wound.

“A steady hand in the middle of battle is an incredible skill,” he said, admiring the stitch-work as best he could. Maybe hde should have gotten her to repair his scarf.

“You are a sniper, you should understand,” she said without pausing in her work. “You should be okay to stand, but please don’t run or climb, and the moment this battle is over I want you on your butt and taking all pressure from that leg; do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he said. “And… thank you.”

Mercy looked at him for a moment, a look he’d describe as doe-eyed if not on a medical professional who just treated him. She was surprised by the gratitude. She most likely only got thrown curses and insults when her patients were injured and being sewn back up.

“You are welcome.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two months later, Hanzo and McCree found themselves playing cards in a small tent, Hanzo’s leg wound now no more than a pale scar running up his thigh thanks to a trained doctor’s handy work, and a patient willing to listen to her orders. Contrasting the chill of the sea-side Gibraltar, the Sahara Desert was dry and blistering hot. McCree had no fear out in the sun, but Hanzo insisted they stay shaded as much as possible. He had a skincare routine to maintain, and a strong reluctance to heatstroke.

From their position on top of a small rocky mountain, they could see a decent periphery of the area they were watching through the flaps of the ten. It would be more than easy to spot a convoy running along the otherwise empty dirt road, especially considering the dust trail their own transport had left. Gradually this trail had settled, keeping their presence a secret.

“Poker is numbing my mind,” McCree said.

“I never thought I would hear you say that,” Hanzo said dropping his cards and planting his face into the blanket they were using as a floor. He heard the few clicks of the monitor they had set up from McCree pointlessly checking the scanners. They were both fully aware that the tracking systems set up would notify them at even the slightest indication of activity.

“I am going to melt,” Hanzo whinged into the floor.

“It’s only been a few hours, sweetheart.”

“I hate the heat,” Hanzo said. “And I like to complain.”

“Well sorry I can’t keep you cool,” McCree said. “I have a feeling my presence has the opposite effect on you.”

“You could huff a gentle breeze on me,” Hanzo said, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Are you asking me to blow on you?” McCree asked. It was a stretch but Hanzo doubted his mind could come up with any better innuendos at present.

“It would certainly help take my mind off the heat.”

“Don’t think we’d look so intimidating if we’re naked and covered in sand when the convoy shows up.”

“ _If_ it shows up. I wish Fareeha was back from her vacation. I am sure this weather is no issue for her. Why did you insist that I come along with you? I hate this Jesse. As much as I love your company, I hate this weather.”

McCree shrugged his shoulders and took a deep sip from his water flask. “Figured I shouldn’t be away for half of our anniversary.”

Hanzo was bad with the heat, but he was almost certain he hadn’t gone completely insane yet. Hanzo gave McCree a look which resembled more than one corpse he had seen in his time. McCree returned a somewhat more lively look. “Our first time in combat together. I always say, you don’t really know a man until you’ve seen how he fights.”

“Jesse, how could you possibly remember that?”

“It was that raid on the old HQ in Switzerland. I remember writing the mission report and Winston asked me and the others to document how you faired in battle. I was goin’ on and on about how great your aim was and how when you ran outta arrows you slung that bow around like a great sword. I remember having to take a break halfway through and later amend some of my praises because you looked damn good fighting hand to hand combat,” McCree finished his explanation by shooting Hanzo a wink.

“Why did you have to stop halfway through your report?”

“You looked _damn good_ in hand to hand combat,” McCree repeated, a lot slower and notably deeper.

The heat had already made Hanzo’s cheeks bright red, but he hid his face back into the ground again. Instead of shame, he took a moment to picture the scene and began laughing into the floor. It was endearing, that McCree had felt that way about him for so long. Or maybe McCree had just been really lonely and really horny and a little creepy. He wondered if McCree would find his story if a similar situation endearing or creepy. Hell, it was McCree, he would ask Hanzo to retell the tale at community dinner.

“I remember the mission, but I do not understand why you chose to remember it as an anniversary.”

“History’s gotta be made about something - Hup, we got incoming,” McCree said as the monitor started beeping. They had set up three cameras along the road, one of which had become completely buried in the sand over the past few hours. One was too far away to give many visual details about the convoy but another had a decent image of three trucks and a convertible tearing along the dusty highway.

Hanzo picked up his ear piece and turned it on. The connection was a little crackly due to the remoteness of their location but it was a clear enough communication line. “Shimada reporting.”

“Hanzooooo,” Hana’s voice called from the other line. “Do you always act so professional on your dates.”

“We are on a mission,” Hanzo begain.

“And yes!” McCree shouted.

“Where is Winston?” Hanzo asked, ignoring his cowboy.

“Angela used Doctor’s overriding command to force him to sleep, turns out he’s been going for fifty hours straight.”

“Idiot,” Hanzo muttered.

“I know, I should get some tips,” Hana said.

“Hana no.”

“Hana yes! Anyway, I’ve been fully briefed in the meantime. Do you have something to report?”

“Yes. We-”

“It better not be about your McEscapades I don’t want those details.”

More dryly Hanzo began to talk again. “We have visual on the convoy. Three trucks and a luxury sports car-”

“Classic Maserati,” McCree butted in.

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “We are in position.”

“Okay, Winston’s decided to go with the warning signal plan,” Hana said.

“Are you certain? We can destroy the tires and upend the delivery,” Hanzo said.

“Too dangerous with only two of you. Just the warning shot, and only, _only_ if it’s perfectly safe, then you’re to also attach the tracker.”

“No direct interception?” Hanzo asked.

“None whatsoever,” Hana said firmly.

“Warning shot ready,” McCree relayed from the monitor. “You ready?”

Hanzo grabbed his bow and the special arrows from his bag. He had insisted that he only needed one to land the hit, the GPS system inside the arrow was very expense to make, but Winston insisted on giving him at least three chances.

“I am ready,” Hanzo said. McCree brought up the computer program which was connected to their planted bombs. He tapped in his passcode and then eyed the monitors for the convoy’s position. The trucks had continued on their path, oblivious to the sabotage plan about to hit them.

“Alrighty. Three, two, one.” McCree hit enter and the echo of the explosion carried through the empty desert. When he turned back Hanzo was gone, already scaling across the rocky landscape quickly but carefully, making sure not to unsettle too much sand in his wake.

On the monitor, McCree watched the trucks stop and a small swarm of people emerge from them to investigate the giant hole which had been blown in the middle of the road. It was only a matter of time before they realised the destruction was planned to be the shape of the Overwatch logo. It was a warning, with absolutely no subtlety.

McCree’s metallic fingers drummed anxiously on the computer, and with Hanzo’s absence and the nerves awaiting his safe return, he finally noticed just how hot the desert was. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath.

Even though his full attention was waiting for it, Hanzo’s voice still gave him a fright as it came through the line. “The GPS is in place. First try, gorilla,” Hanzo said, a playful challenge in his voice bringing a wave of comfort to McCree.

“Proud of you sweetie. Now get your ass back here, it’s time to book it.”

 

* * *

 

The arrow struck bullseye and a moment later McCree turned the most wide-eyed gleeful grin to Hanzo who was standing right beside him.

“Impressive,” Hanzo said.

“Did you see that?” McCree’s voice was several pitches higher than usual.

“Yes, I did see that,” Hanzo said, who in fact, had been watching nothing other than McCree’s shooting for the past half an hour. Teaching his boyfriend his pride profession was exhilarating in its own way. So was seeing McCree’s muscles flex with the weight and pull of the bow, but that was a different kind of pleasure.

Stormbow remained raised in McCree’s arm aimed at the target. “I have half a mind to try another shot, but I’m also a big fan of ending on a high note.”

“Try it again,” Hanzo said. Passing him another arrow. “But don’t get cocky. Still go through all the steps.”

McCree looked back at the target and knocked the arrow. “What if I split the arrow? Now that I’m a pro I think we should take em’ out after each one I fire,” he teased.

“I do not doubt your skill, but if you manage to hit the centre again I will be thoroughly amazed, my love.”

McCree drew the arrow. “What a perfect end to our anniversary.”

“Wait- what?”

McCree donned a smug grin as he fired the next arrow. It landed a few inches off its mark, but still an impressive shot. “First drink together.”

“Jesse this is ridiculous. You _must_ be making them up by now,” Hanzo insisted. It had been a month since their Saharan expedition, but not long enough for Hanzo to start to wonder if he should reconsider whether he was dating a lunatic.

“Don’t you remember our first drink?”

“I do remember it. Your whiskey was nicer than I let on, I felt guilty for lying to you. However, I do not remember the exact date it occurred,” Hanzo said. They linked arms and began their trek down the shooting range. “I know you are good at sharpshooting and good at strategy, but I did not take you for a mathematician.”

“I’m not half bad, but nothing fancy. I certainly don’t do it for fun like you do,” McCree said. “I thought by now you’d’ve figured out I’m just really good with time.”

“How many dates do you have floating up there?” Hanzo said, tapping McCree’s forehead with the feather end of an arrow. McCree’s face scrunched for a moment at the contact. “I’m certain you do not keep a calendar, otherwise your phone would be buzzing every five minutes telling you of the anniversary of the first hat you wore or something far more ridiculous.”

“There’s a lot of dates, I’ll admit. Like… me and Ana’s first mission together, same day as Mei’s birthday. And then Genji and mine’s first time we pulled an all-nighter. That’s the date after when Gabe arrested me.”

“And these anniversaries, they matter to you?” Hanzo asked.

“Just cause there’s a lot, don’t mean they ain’t special.” McCree’s voice shifted to a more solemn tone. “Somewhere down the track I started needing reasons to celebrate, and I realised I actually had things I cared to remember. Little reminders good things which have happened. It helps me keep a positive mind.”

“So only happy memories become anniversaries?” Hanzo asked.

“Why’d I want to relive somethin’ terrible over and over? The only one I remember is Gabe’s and Ana’s death. Just thinkin’ about it’s already getting me down,” McCree said, brushing off the last of his thoughts.

“Hmm,” Hanzo said. He turned his full attention to retrieving and inspecting arrows keeping his eyes averted on the metal weapons. McCree remained silent watching Hanzo, judging the meticulous amount of time spent on each arrow, running his fingers along each scratch.

“Hanz, what’s wrong?”

By the final arrow Hanzo’s eyes had not looked at McCree’s for the entire time, and they had become glassy, looking at the arrow but seeing something else entirely.

“Kodomo no Hi,” Hanzo finally answered, still watching the arrow. “May 5th. The only date which mattered to me.”

Finally, he looked to McCree, catching the confusion on his face. “May fifth… I’m guessing we aren’t talking about some Japanese Cinco de Mayo?”

“Children’s day, although that was not why it was important,” Hanzo said. “I returned to Hanamura every year on that day, at great personal risk. Because although the journey could kill me, not making it would be the end of me much sooner and with much more probability.” In his hands the bundle of arrows were clenched tightly. Hanzo followed McCree’s gaze, and tried to stop the shaking of his hands to no avail.

Rather than let frustration and self-disappointment linger, he shut his eyes for a moment. _Everything is better now. We are changing. We are growing. We are progressing._

He felt McCree’s hands over his own, one cool and metallic, the other warm and soft, but both as affectionate in intention. And finally, his own hands were held still.

“Genji?” McCree asked softly.

“Genji,” Hanzo confirmed.

“Well Hanzo, it’s really up to you to begin making new anniversaries to honour.”

“You say that Jesse, but I am done dwelling on the past. I wish to become a man who looks to his future,” Hanzo said.

 

* * *

 

 

The credits to Finding Nemo, a children’s film from over half a century ago, rolled over the screen. McCree had fallen asleep in his lap but Hanzo felt as though sleep was far off for him that night. He searched the TV, finding another classic children’s film to put on, and turned the volume far down and the subtitles on, to avoid disturbing his snoozing company.

Twenty minutes into the film, and Hanzo realised that his body was in a calm and comfortable lull. McCree’s coping mechanism was good, and he was satisfied that he had gotten another chance to comfort his lover and repay the kindness he was often given.

A metre away, his phone buzzed once. Trying his best to not disrupt the sleeping cowboy, he reached over and took a hold of it, the screen shining painfully bright into his eyes in the dark room.

He read ‘Emergency Mission: Response Immediate” and then he was immediately slipping out from under McCree and moving silently about the room to collect his equipment. Just before stepping out of the room, he gave McCree one last look, hoping he would wake up without cramps too severe from sleeping on the floor. Hanzo found it incredible that such a trivial thing mattered so much.

Out in the hall he had Athena relay the details of the message to him through his earpiece. Within the hour he and three other agents were leaving Gibraltar to provide protective response to a terrorist attack in Italy.

The carrier took off and after the rush of preparation, Hanzo finally found his body relaxing into the patience of waiting. He remembered his lover asleep in his room. McCree always stayed with him when it was nights where he was distraught and in need of comfort. Were it in his jurisdiction, he would stay by McCree’s side tonight. Instead he sent a message, hoping it would not wake him.

_Sorry to slip out. Emergency Mission. Should only take three days. Love you._

He read the message over, before attaching five different heart emojis and hitting send. To Hanzo’s relief, it was many hours later when McCree messaged back.

A message forgiving him, and arranging plans for a date on Hanzo’s return within the week.

Unfortunately, for all of McCree’s attention to time and planning, life rarely go according to schedule.

 

* * *

 

 

McCree wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch or kiss the face of his former commander Jack Morrison. Well, definitely not kiss. Maybe hug, but in that platonic and manly way with a hefty pat on the back.

But that urge to punch also lingered threateningly strong, so he stayed planted on the bridge safely 30 metres above, watching Morrison being led to the front doors of the Gibraltar base by Winston and a smattering of agents whose curiosity drew them to the person of interest. On his jacket was a bright red 76, and while McCree had suspected as much for a while, this was undeniable proof.

“Sure do regret complimenting your ass,” McCree said to himself, sitting down on the bridge and lighting a cigarette. He remembered the exchange with Hanzo, and Hanzo’s displeasure at his diverted attention. Hanzo. He should be here.

McCree checked his phone, knowing there was no point. His finger hovered over the messaging app. Morrison on base was enough heartache for one day, but why not push it further.

About fifteen messages had been sent to Hanzo over the past month, none of which had been responded to. “Where are you, you bastard?” He knew the basics of Hanzo’s current mission. It had immediately followed his deployment in Italy. Winston mentioned something about poor communications in the area he and Genji were stationed in the French Alps. For now, he would give Hanzo the benefit of the doubt for not returning his calls or messages.

Down below him, Morrison was shaking the hand of Angela. Long lost friends who were happy to see him. A thought then crossed McCree’s mind that maybe Morrison would punch _him_ on sight. McCree took a deep inhale of his cigarette, not knowing if he wanted Morrison to turn around and spot him or remain oblivious to his presence for a little while longer. To his dismay, Angela did spot him, and pointed up at the bridge, guiding Morrison’s attention.

McCree tipped his hat and Morrison nodded with a curt salute, before disappearing inside. It was a safe exchange, and would do for now.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Jesse, do you know what day it is?” Genji asked, peering into McCree’s dark room.

“If everything’s gone accordin’ to plan, it’s Tuesday,” McCree said, stirring in his bed. Genji flicked on the bedroom light which, despite his eyes being shut tight, shone through his eyelids and stung every fibre of McCree’s brain.

“You’re good at drinking, but not _that_ good. It is only Sunday. Are you thinking about Jack or Hanzo?” Genji asked, quietly padding across the room and perching on the bed beside the bundle of blankets which was McCree.

“Fuck,” was McCree’s uninformative reply.

“Hanzo is busy. He has his reasons for being under the radar at the moment. Limited communication and-”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Genji.” After three months away, Genji had finally returned from the Shimada brothers’ mission with barely a word as to why Hanzo had not come back with him. Beyond ‘personal reasons’ and ‘I’m sure he’ll contact you when he can,’ McCree preferred to simmer in his own terrible festering thoughts. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it had simply been too long since he let the masochist in him run free.

“Jack has his reasons for… being quiet, too. But all of his are shit.”

McCree wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. He’d been doing an inappropriate amount of both lately, so he did neither, and instead sat up revealing his dishevelled face to the world.

“You heard the news about Ana?” Genji asked.

“Hmm,” McCree confirmed.

“Do you think she will come back to Overwatch?”

“Not any time soon.”

Genji swiped his fingers through McCree’s unkempt hair. “I suppose you heard about Gabe too? From the sounds of it, I do not think I want him back.”

McCree gave his eyes a roll, some form of communicating ‘This shit is too emotional and fucked up,’ which worked effectively when conveyed to one of his oldest friends. “If what you say is true, and it’s only Sunday, That means it’s their anniversary today. Jack and Gabe’s,” McCree explained. “Their real one, when they started dating. Do you reckon Jack, sorry, _Soldier 76,_ even remembers?”

“Yes. He was humming Mrs Robinson this morning as he made coffee.”

McCree let out a huffed laugh as he recalled the memory. Gabe wanted the confession to be romantic, but had had limited supplies available on base. So, he enlisted McCree to brush up on his guitar skills, which a twenty-year-old scheming young McCree, was more than glad to assist with.

And so, McCree had walked in at the end of Jack and Gabe's private dinner as planned, except he had not just prepared a few guitar chords to be strummed, but instead jumped into a full on serenade on Gabe’s behalf.

“I saw it you know. We were all gathered around the security camera,” Genji said. “I swear to God, I have never seen anything which made every person in the room cry with laughter, than you singing ‘Here’s to you Mr Morrison, Gabie loves you more than you will know.’ The play on words was so bad that Fareeha literally screamed.”

McCree started chuckling, reaching for the glass of water by his bed. It was going to be a long road to recovery from this hang over, but he had to start with one glass of water, and this would be it.

“You should serenade Hanzo on your anniversary.”

“Can’t tell if he’d hate it or love it.”

“If it is private, he will love it. If it is public, he’ll love it but only speak of hating it.”

“If he’s here,” McCree grumbled into his glass.

“He’ll be back by then. We only place missions back to back very rarely, so whenever what he’s dealing with is over, he will return.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m a man who’s good with time,” McCree said. “And somehow months have managed to slip on by.”

Fareeha let out a weary sigh. “This can’t possibly be another anniversary,” she moaned. “It’s New Year’s Eve, that’s like, the world’s anniversary.”

“First kiss,” McCree said. He closed his eyes, and inhaled cold night air, wishing it was Hanzo’s breath he was inhaling instead.

“Can’t you just ask Winston for his movement reports, or hire a spy, instead of bothering everyone with your shitty attitude.”

“I thought y’all liked my complaining?” McCree said.

“We did when it was about funny things no one cared about. But this is just depressing,” Fareeha said, throwing a rock over the cliff face. For as far as their eyes would allow, they followed it’s tumbling path, but the darkness of the canyon swallowed it before it found any ground.

“I tried to get out of this mission. He’s meant to be at Gibraltar right now,” McCree said. He hadn’t actively searched for information on Hanzo, but he heard enough through passing conversation.

“Still doesn’t explain him not messaging you back,” Fareeha said.

“Not it fucking doesn’t!” McCree shouted. McCree kicked a rather sizeable rock into the canyon. Even in the darkness the sand trailing it was the distinct red of the Australian outback. “If I throw myself into this canyon, will you jet pack down n’ save me?”

“Oh my god that is it I’m done,” Fareeha declared, rising to her feet and tugging McCree along with her. “We’re headed back to the party. I’m not babysitting you.”

McCree pulled out from her arms but his shoulders slumped at all the fight drained from him. “I don’t want his movement reports. I want him. I want answers. I want a fucking phone call.” He kicked at a boulder this time, in some attempt to exhort his frustration. In the distance, they could hear the celebrations from their camp of the six other members on their mission dancing, eating and drinking around a bonfire.

“Okay Mr Wolf, how long has it been?” Fareeha asked.

“Five months, and fourteen days,” McCree said. “No word.”

“See, the two months mark is my, ‘He’s an asshole, time to move on’ mark,” Fareeha said.

“But I really like him, Pharah. I really, really. Fuck I miss him so much. He’s my best friend and I miss him and… Why hasn’t he fucking called!”

Fareeha watched McCree kick another rock into the canyon, this time slipping in a way that made her anxious of how close they were to the edge. “Fuck, Jesse just. Calm down. Have your tantrum at a more ‘sober and lower altitude’ time.” Softly she added, “Please.”

McCree took a deep sigh, watching red dust settle around him. “Fine! Fine. I’ll give it more time. I’ll… I’ll be patient.”

“No. Fuck it. He’s an asshole. Move on,” She said firmly and sharply.

“No, Fareeha. I’m not giving up on him. I’m sure he has a reason for being gone.”

“He better have many, many reasons,” Fareeha said. “Good ones too. Otherwise I’m kicking his ass when we see him next. Hell, I’ll probably do it regardless of his reasons.” This time Fareeha took a firm hold of McCree and began guiding him back to the camp. As they drew nearer, the warmth of the bonfire enticed them closer. “Didn’t Genji explain why they couldn’t contact during the first two months?”

“Somethin’ vague. Something stupid. Like, no power supplies for their phones and no sunlight for their solar chargers,” McCree grumbled.

“And then he… what went to Mexico?”

“I don’t know, all I heard was personal reasons for some time off.”

“Personal reasons?” Fareeha asked.

“No idea. Then I heard something about him taking on a mission fuck knows where, and something about helping out with local affairs and rumours and gossip and I just stopped caring what other people said about him anymore. I had work to do and I still have work to do and it ain’t my job to dote on Hanzo’s whereabouts.”

“No, but it’s just your job to complain all the time about it,” Fareeha teased.

“Yeah, it is.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Medic down! I need assistance. Immediately!”

Angela’s desperate pleas motivated McCree like nothing else had in quite a long time. One year, three months and two days, to be precise.

“I’ll be right with you doc,” McCree promised. He reloaded his gun, and his next six shots were perfectly placed. Lives sacrificed to clear a path to a person who was much more important to McCree. He ran directly to Angela’s location.

The wings of her combat suit were crumpled and offline, and from a hole in the white armour, red blood was seeping from her abdomen.

“Suit first,” she said, taking deep and heavy breaths.

McCree unbuckled the latches at the side of her suit. “How’d you get yourself into this one Ang? Always knew it was smart to have two doctors on a mission.” He pulled the front panel off her suit and immediately relief crossed her face as she indulged in the ease at which she could now breathe. McCree reached into his boot to pull out a pocket knife, which he used to cut the fabric from her torso. His hands well trained to be steady in any circumstance, and peeled her shirt away to reveal her blood-stained skin. He also cut the strap of her bra, bullet wound to the stomach making unhooking it too risky, and years of familiarity and professionalism making modesty a non-issue. Her ease of breathing was the most important thing.

“Okay Jesse, I need you to retrieve the bandages and I need to put pressure on the wound. We will need to wait for the ambulance to arrive,” she explained.

Inside of her bag was a million and one medical tools, but the bandage was rolled up and easily distinguishable. He remained seated beside Mercy, holding pressure on the bandage and keeping an eye out for any intruders. He wanted to help her more than just holding a bandage to keep her blood in, but it was all he could do.

“You need some pain killers?” McCree said, taking note of the tears gripping her eyes.

“No. If anyone needs medical advice I do not want to be in delirium,” her words came slowly but clearly. That was a good sign. Her exposed body shivered, and McCree reached around his shoulders to remove his serape with one hand. He placed it over her, and kept the pressure on the bandage underneath the blanket.

“How am I doing doc? Maybe if I tire of puttin’ bullets into people, you can teach me how to properly take ‘em out?”

“I’d be happy to teach you,” she said.

“How long’ve you wanted to be a doctor for? I never got round to askin’?” McCree said, making conversation to distract from the wound in her body.

“Ever since my parents died, when I was ten.”

“That’s a tough one. One hell of a motivator though.”

“How long have you wanted to be a cowboy for?” she asked.

“Ever since I saw my pa hit my mom,” McCree replied. “Needed to dispense some justice. My way. The right way.”

“Well… that’s one heck of a motivator,” she responded.

McCree looks down at the fallen angel. Sharing a laugh in the midst of a crisis. It was almost an accurate description of McCree’s entire existence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama? In my plotless fic? It's more likely than you think.  
> So mid semester ASSignments have been kicking my mid semester ASS.  
> Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon and you too can decide whether to kick Hanzo's ASS.  
> -  
> 1- if i got anything about Kodomo no Hi wrong lemme know  
> 2- lactose intolerant hanzo bc according to wikipedia 90-99% of japan is lactose intolerant, and also fun headcannon why not. i guess mccree already knew and had been putting soymilk in his coffee all along  
> 3- don't slather your vegemite. spread it very thin over toast which already has melted butter


	6. Arguments, Apologies, and A Healthy Amount of Death Threats from a Terrifying Egyptian woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back, back?  
> It's Hanzo.  
> Some people are angry about this, some people are furious about this, and some people aren't sure what to feel.  
> ((edit, removed a section which was out of place, in my feelings. the exact identical scene will be put in ch 7 at a better point in the story))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW. Suffocation

Two years, one month and one day was a long time to prepare for something, but only if you were expecting something to happen at all. When the messages were never returned and the calls never answered, and when this went on and on, McCree had pointedly avoided planning anything regarding the future of him and Hanzo. So, the time he kept track of was a counter upwards, not a count down. Which meant that instead of building anticipation, it slowly corroded it.

The summer sun beat down on McCree, and he wished it would bring back nostalgic memories of his childhood, but instead he felt himself being taken to a lazy afternoon spent in the Sahara Desert almost a lifetime ago. Sitting on the porch of the small safehouse, his hat provided little shade, although it did grant him anonymity from the residents of the small town he was stationed in.

He heard the footsteps approaching, and he had to give whoever owned them credit, they were expertly trained and almost no one else would have heard their approach. Of course, McCree was no idiot, he had a fairly good guess as to who they belonged to, but he kept his eyes firmly shut out of a foolish hope that he was wrong.

“Hello Jesse.”

Hanzo’s voice sounded just as it had two years ago, and through the cloud of anger, frustration, anguish, and all other storms of emotions which his presence brought up, it still managed to make McCree’s heart flutter in a way which had never quite made sense. Because while he had stopped planning a future between he and Hanzo, he had also avoided planning one without him there either. Hanzo’s voice was the same, but his appearance was dramatically different. His hair was shaved on either side of his head, and he wore a travel jacket, casual pants and long combat boots, in a striking comparison to his old archery attire. The bow over his back had also changed, although stowed away McCree could barely see it.

“Long time, no see,” McCree said, climbing to his feet. “No call. No message. No nothing really.”

“Winston said you would need assistance for a recon mission,” Hanzo stated simply.

“And what, you thought it would be fun to swing on by, did ye? Was this one convenient enough for you to drop in on?” McCree asked. His attempt at staying collected was already fraying. So what if his voice was harsh and biting, Hanzo deserved the sting.

“I have been running several small missions for Overwatch over the past year. Casually and unofficially. However, after this job is done, I feel it is time for me to return with you to Gibraltar.”

“Listen. Hanzo. I don’t care what Winston told you. I don’t need you here. And none of us need you back at base. We need people who are committed to the cause. People who stick around and are team players.”

Frustration was evident on Hanzo’s face, but he schooled his tone professionally. “My devotion to the organisation is not in question. I will return for good. Jesse, I understand you are angry with me-”

McCree let out a raucous, entirely forced laugh. “Just a touch.” Hanzo’s wince at McCree’s cruel outburst did not bring any satisfaction.

“I have my reasons for disappearing,” Hanzo said.

“I’m mighty sure you do sweetheart. I’m sure there’s might good reasons for dropping me like  hot shit n’ running off without a word. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for abandoning the people who care about you.”

“If you would stop talking for one goddamn second cowboy I can explain myself,” Hanzo said. He tried to act patient, allowing McCree’s frustration to vent, but he had always been the kind of person who could not tolerate immature behaviour for long.

“Nah, I get it,” McCree said. “Overwatch is desperate for anyone and everyone who’ll help us. So, when fancy, spoilt Shimada ‘I do what I want’ Hanzo, demands a holiday, well Winston’s got no choice but to let you run off. You were never a part of the team, so why would you stick around as long as you did? Surely, there’s absolutely _nothing_ you cared about in Overwatch.”

“Jesse McCree, you are acting like a child. I understand why you are villainising me, but stop doing it of your own uninformed bias, you will only embarrass yourself,” Hanzo said. “You know fully well why I came to Overwatch, and why I stayed. Why I am returning.”

“You know Hanzo, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what _I know_. Some things lately have made me question things awful hard.”

Hanzo let out a growl of frustration. “I am trying to explain myself but you do not wish to hear it!”

“You’re right Hanzo. I don’t wanna hear it. Just, fuck off. Just. Disappear again. I don’t need you here, and Gibraltar don’t need you either. Keep flittering in and out whenever it suits you. But stop acting like the people who love you stop existing when you drop off the face of the earth. Because we’re still here, still loving you, and it ain’t fair.”

Pity plastered itself over Hanzo’s face and McCree found it repulsive. Fear and panic were trying to claw out of the darkest recesses of McCree’s being and consume his body whole. It took all of his willpower to contain his emotion, but the façade would not last and he could feel the cracks forming in his mask. “Just go Hanzo.”

“Jesse…”

“Fuck. Off. Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s tattooed hand came to his own eyes, hiding his face and McCree instantly recognised the change in Hanzo’s breathing, caught the way his shoulders tensed. A familiar body from their tender history together. Hanzo was crying.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” McCree began. Mostly he was afraid that the tears would prompt his own.

“No,” Hanzo said. He pushed his way past McCree to the door of the safehouse. “We will discuss this later. After the mission. When you have cooled down, we will move out and get the job done. Professionally.” The door was then slammed shut before McCree could respond.

Now alone, McCree’s entire body deflated. Inside the safehouse was all of his equipment, his mission report, and the presence of a man whom he was afraid to declare a part of his past, but much more afraid to call a part of his present. Luckily, in the holster on his leg, McCree still had Peacekeeper, loaded with six bullets. And as always, he had his winning smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Wit, charm and death threats were quickly unsuccessful. On a typical day, four hostile targets were barely a challenge for McCree, but that day was far from a typical one. The first two had gone down easily, although the other two had survived his deadeye. It was his fault for pulling the trigger a touch too early. The third man had put up a skirmish, which would have been shorter if it had not taken place while McCree was also trying to recover from the Deadeye. McCree heard the last of his dying gasps from several metres away as he grappled with the last target. The woman was strong and fast, but most importantly, she was emotionally stable despite the death of three of her co-workers.

She swung out her leg, and suddenly McCree’s back collided into the pavement below. His empty gun sat far out of reach and two strong hands held firmly around his neck. A knee on his prosthetic arm kept it uselessly at his side, and the grabbing of his right hand became more and more futile as his movements were fuelled by less and less oxygen.

Soon his body began to jerk; desperate for air and panic overpowering any battle strategy he had stored in his repertoire. So, Winston had been correct. He really did need a second agent for back up on this mission. But his thought process had been ‘I’d rather die than let Hanzo back into my life with a simple _I’m sorry but we need to be professionals about this_ ’ and it seemed that McCree had successfully reached the die part of that plan.

One second he was being strangled to death, and then he blinked and there was an arrow lodged firmly into his assailant’s skull. A drop of blood dripped from her forehead onto McCree’s face as her eyes went blank. He shoved her off from on top of him, scrambling to sit up and scramble a few metres from the corpse.

He took careful breaths and slowly the haze of asphyxiation eased and reality returned to him as well as the realisation that he may still live one day to reach retirement. Of course, accompanying this clarity was the realisation that the arrow meant the presence of only one man _._ Soon, Hanzo was standing over him, looking down at the recovering form of McCree.

“If you really think… savin’ my life… changes anything,” McCree began, voice choking out his words.

“You fucking idiot!” Hanzo crouched down to meet him face to face. He didn’t seem to care about McCree’s injured form when it came to giving a furious lecture. “This was only meant to be a recon mission, that is why there is only two of us. If our relationship means so little to you that you refuse to listen to me so be it, but do not abandon all sense and get yourself killed. You mean far too much for such an anti-climactic demise.”

The need to argue was far stronger than any damage choking had done to McCree’s windpipe. “Are you kidding me Shimada?! _You’re_ angry at me? And what right do you have to say our relationship meant nothing to me?”

“The other half of that relationship,” Hanzo answered. “I am here now, Jesse. And I have wanted nothing more than to explain myself to you. It has been tearing me apart, and finally I find you and you will not let me get a word in. I expected you to be angry, to need time, but I didn’t expect you not to care what I had to say. To look at me like I was vile and as though my words were meaningless. It _hurts_ to hear you disregard me and everything we had so bluntly.”

“I did care! I do care. Too damn much,” McCree said, his voice practically a wail. “I tried to call, I tried to get access to your mission files. I tried everything and there’s no chance in hell you couldn’t get in contact with me!”

Hanzo sat down beside McCree, placing his bow on the ground. He took a long slow sigh as he drew his knees to his chest. “Yes, you are right. I could have called.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you?”

“Because… I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t I do not know… I was in a bad place,” Hanzo said.

“You mean like?” McCree tapped the top of his own head and Hanzo gave a nod.

For the first time in what felt like hours, or perhaps two years, the anger finally started to seep out of from McCree. A small pin prick in his balloon of confused emotions. “I did not call. And then a year had passed since I had not called and I could not reconnect like that. And it was not time for me to return… I did not mean for us to reunite like this. I should have waited until you were off duty-”

“You should’ve comeback sooner.”

When Hanzo’s eyes found his, they were curious, watching and documenting all of the pain which McCree would show. Hoping he was still able to read the other man like he once knew how. And finally, McCree could see the pain in Hanzo’s too. “I should have come back sooner,” he agreed. “Have… have you met someone?”

“No!” McCree snapped in a moment of fear. “Of all the things, you ask me that. I just… I missed you Hanz,” he admitted, allowing a quiver to escape his voice.

“I missed you too,” Hanzo said. He reached a hand out put paused, uncertain if he had earned the privilege to touch yet. McCree hated the way he longed to take Hanzo’s hand in his own. To kiss it, to press it to his skin, to touch and love the archer once more. He hated how desperate he was for their old relationship back, and he hated this divide between them. He kept his hands to himself for the time being. Jesse McCree had a reputation to maintain as a man who did not forgive easily.

“You said you were in a bad place,” McCree began again. “Are you alright now?”

“I am better. There are many reasons why I left. I will explain them all. I _want_ to explain them all. But, just know that I am sorry. For how I have treated you. It was wrong. There were missions, and there were complications and then some things happened which I needed time to think about, and there were plenty of absences which I cannot excuse. And I should not have cut you out. If I had have been smarter, I would have confided in you as the only man who could have helped me. I dealt with things wrong. I was childish. But I have grown.”

“You gonna be this vague about it all, or are you going to get to specifics?”

“I am a whimsical man, Jesse,” Hanzo said with a light-hearted laugh. “There will be time for specifics later, for now, we should return to the safehouse. I do not think it wise to remain around all of these bodies. Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.”

Hanzo frowned at that, just as upset by McCree’s nonchalance to personal injury as he ever was. Hanzo stood and offered his hand to pull McCree up. McCree took it.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours of travel were spent mostly silent, too many questions kept to themselves. Finally boarded onto the carrier to return to Gibraltar, McCree found himself staring at Hanzo’s bow as he tried to formulate a million flooding thoughts into coherent sentences. The bow was slightly smaller than Hanzo’s old one, and far heavier due to the wolf bones strapped to it. It was made of leather and had tufts of fur bound to it. He wondered where it came from, its leather was worn far beyond two years of use, but as a testament to its sturdiness it was perfectly held together.

These conversations would be hard, but they had to start somewhere. “I just… I don’t understand what could draw you to cutting me out like that?” McCree began. “Hell, if something was giving you a hard time, I’d hoped I’d set myself up to be the person you’d seek out for help.”

“I do not know myself Jesse. At first, not talking was a necessity due to poor communications in the French alps. But then, the day we were finished and we returned to civilisation, I realised I had missed Genji’s death anniversary. It was the first time I had ever forgotten. It upset me greatly and seeing your countless messages… I couldn’t. I found myself needing to work. I took on another mission where someone died on my watch. And then there was a local issue in the area, and after so many mistakes, I felt like I needed to… to do something right. So I followed that lead but… I can’t even remember. I think I was injured?

“Regardless, not talking to you became a habit, a bad habit, which perpetuated. And then I received news of a civil war which was taking place in Hanamura. I had to go there, and that is something I really need to tell you about some other time because something happened which… in my homeland, I cannot think properly there. My past caught up and… after that I felt a need to… change. I needed to do good things, of my own accord. Separate from you, separate from everyone, from my life. For a while. I am sorry Jesse.”

“It’s…” McCree paused for a moment, heaving a long weary sigh. “It’s alright.”

“No, it is not. But your forgiveness means everything, and I intend to earn it fully. Because I thought of you on New Years Eve, both of them. And I do not know what other anniversaries we share, but I thought of you often enough that I surely thought of you on each of them. What happened was bad, and I am in the wrong. I am here now, and I will do everything in my power to make it up to you. But that will take time, and for now I just want my lover back in my arms.”

The statement caught McCree off guard, but not as much as the look on Hanzo’s face when their eyes locked. The sight of his love in distress, his words echoing in his mind, clenched at McCree’s heart. He reached his hands out, taking Hanzo’s and pulling him close. They both wrapped their arms around each other, resting their chins on each other’s shoulders and holding tightly with the intent that neither could slip away again.

“I missed ya so much Hanz,” McCree said, the words muffled where his face was buried into Hanzo’s shoulder.

“I missed you too, Jesse McCree.” His fingers dug a little tighter into McCree’s shirt. He soaked up the warmth and the scent and the feel of McCree, taking in and appreciating the essence of everything which made up the man. A presence he missed like a piece of himself, and he needed like the warmth of the sun. “Did I manage to stage my return on an anniversary?”

“No, there’s nothin’ special about today.”

“There is now.”

 

* * *

 

 

After nights worried, frustrated, angry, drunk, and ultimately lonely, this was the first time McCree had been excited for dawn when he fell asleep. And when McCree woke up beside Hanzo, he realised that it was the first time in two years he had woken up on the proper side of the bed. While the chasm cut between them was going to need a long time and many arguments to fix it, they had found comfort and familiarity in each other's presence.

Hanzo was already awake, his eyes lazily admiring McCree through the sunlight of dawn. They both shared a silent moment, appreciating each other. McCree still had a storm of emotions, the betrayal of Hanzo’s actions was not going to disappear anytime soon, but regardless, being physically close to Hanzo felt natural, sweet and familiar.

“I thought of you always,” Hanzo said. His voice was dry from sleep, but the words were clear.

“Really now?” McCree asked, he tilted his head closer to Hanzo, inviting. “You gonna prove it?”

Hanzo smiled playfully, but instead of leaning in for a kiss, he hoisted his body up and climbed out of the blankets. McCree rolled over to watch the Hanzo shuffle through his equipment which had been dumped about McCree’s bedroom floor. After a minute of searching Hanzo slid something out from the strap of his quiver. It was a tiny folded piece of paper which Hanzo passed to McCree before climbing back into the warm bed. McCree hissed at Hanzo’s cold body pressing against him, before he unfolded the paper. Inside was a small pen drawing of a stick figure with a cowboy hat and heart above him. In the corner of the paper in English cursive it said ‘Jesse’ and next to it was Japanese word which McCree did not understand. Noticeably, the Japanese was in a different coloured pen. It had been written at a different time.

“Quite the artist,” McCree said.

“Yet strangely La Louvre would not accept my submission.”

“N’ what’s this say?” McCree asked, pointing to the Japanese.

“Aishiteru,” Hanzo read. 

“What’s it mean?”

“It… means many things,” Hanzo said, resting his head against McCree’s chest. After another slow breath he said, “I love you.” McCree watched Hanzo’s fingers lightly rub against his chest, lazy but affectionate movements. “I spent a lot of my time thinking about you. What our relationship implied. Both in regards to our future and what it meant about who both of us are as people.”

“Hanzo,” McCree said. “That’s really poetic and philosophical but I’m going to ruin it. You remember that mornin’ way back when we started dating? Where I kissed you from your neck down and then gave you head?” Hanzo gave Jesse’s chest a slap. “Hey!”

“Honestly, I pour my heart out and you say that,” Hanzo huffed. “And do you really expect me to remember a specific time you went down on me?”

“I did a good job.”

“You always do.”

“Thanks darlin’ but that’s not my point. My point is, head between your legs with you quivering and moaning and whispering my name, that was the morning I realised that I would do anything it took to make you happy. No matter how disgusting or exhausting, no matter how painful or expensive. If you wanted it, I would do it for you. That was when I knew I loved you.”

“Anything I wanted, including giving me another chance after making many foolish decisions?”

“Not many people I’d do that for, but yes, Hanzo.”

“Thank you,” Hanzo said. His hand rested over McCree’s heartbeat. He had forgotten just how secure the rhythmic thumping had made him feel. “Do you want to know when I felt that way for you?”

“I sure do.”

“It was after we became drunk in Colorado, and we decided to exchange secrets which we knew we would both regret sharing. And we woke the next day and I remembered everything and I realised, I did not regret telling you anything. And I did not consider your secrets to be shameful at all. They were not good things you had done, but I still respected you and cared for you. And while my secrets are crushing, I trust you with them. And I love you and hearing that you feel the same is more than I could have ever asked for in my life. More than I could have dreamed. It is more than I deserve.”

“This is starting to sound really altruistic. Don’t you dare take no bullets for me. I couldn’t stand havin’ you gone for two years let alone longer,” McCree said.

“We are both self-destructive men. How about we just try our best to stay alive. For each other, as well as ourselves?”

“I like that plan, Shimada.”

“Stick to it, then,” Hanzo said.

“I will. N’ you too, cause I want many, many more years with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hanzo Shimada I am going to rip your balls off!”

Fear had come to Hanzo in many forms throughout his life, but rarely had it manifested in the form of a person. However, the sight of the tall, determined, radiantly beautiful and fully ripped Fareeha Amari making a bee-line towards him from down the halls of Gibraltar was a sight which had Hanzo shaking, and then running in his boots.

The closest door lead to one of the recreational common rooms, and he darted over the coffee table, ignoring Hana and Lucio’s protests as he scattered their poker cards in the wake of his scramble. A moment later Fareeha barrelled inside, huffing her fringe out of the way of her face. Hanzo leapt behind the couch, using it as a desperate attempt at cover.

“I can explain!” he pleaded, as she crossed the room.

“I don’t want explainin’ I want ass whoopin’,” she said, standing on the other side of the couch and glaring down at him.

“Fareeha, I am making things right,” Hanzo said.

“You did my boy bad, and now you gotta pay! You made him CRY,” Fareeha said, taking extra effort to sharpen the last word into a weapon.

“I know, and I will make up for it.”

“Two years! How could you _possibly_ make up for breaking his heart like that!”

Hana and Lucio watched silently, wide eyed and invested, and possibly on the brink of making popcorn for the spectacle.

“I am practically a professional at making amends for my mistakes at this point in my life,” Hanzo said. “We have been talking and working things through. Jesse and I are fixing things.”

“Oh like _hell_ you are,” Fareeha climbed atop the couch and Hanzo dashed a few meters away, out of arm’s reach. “Get back here you ninja bastard.” She climbed over the couch and raised her fist, and there they both stood in a deadlock.

“Aim for his face!” Hana taunted.

“Hana!” Hanzo gasped, betrayed.

“You still haven’t apologised to _me_ yet,” Hana said.

“I prioritised Jesse. Which was a little easier because I can kiss him. I still have not finished my plans for apologising to you yet,” Hanzo explained.

“Easier?!” Fareeha stiffened, drawing Hanzo’s attention back to her. "Bad choice of words," he said. “Wait, he let you kiss him?” Her arm lowered slightly in her disbelief.

“As I said, I have already begun making things right with Jesse.”

“Only people who care about him call him Jesse.”

“Then you should know why I say his name like a mantra,” Hanzo said. The words surprised her, and helped to quell her rage, although her distaste still lingered strong in every fibre of her being.

“I am going to find him. And I am going to do my best to convince him to throw you into the Gibraltar sea.” She let out a sigh of resignation. “But at the end of the day, you’re his mistake to make. The only reason I haven't torn you apart yet is because that's the last thing he'd want me to do.” And with that, she turned and made her back to the doorway. “But just know, I am more than capable of making you disappear for far more than two years, if you give me a reason.”

Once Fareeha was out of sight, Hanzo felt the fear finally seep from his body. He slumped against the couch, taking a moment to muster his strength before raising his head to address Hana.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

“I think your priority is finding a life jacket for when you get tossed into the ocean,” Hana said. “Fareeha’s really persuasive when she’s angry.” They held eyes for a moment before they both broke out into giggles.

“If I make amends with you now, perhaps you will save me from drowning?” Hanzo asked.

Hana taped her chin for a considerable length of time. “You make me a stack of pancakes, and I’ll consider warming up to you,” she said. “Although I’m not sure if I’ll risk my life by defying Fareeha’s wishes.” Her tone was light-hearted and playful, and Hanzo had a feeling that maybe their friendship had never been at much risk in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

Communal afternoons where the entire organisation was present came rarely in Overwatch. With Mei’s three-month expedition in Everest ending a few days after Hanzo’s return, it was the first time in years that all agents were scheduled to be on base and off duty at the same time. And Winston ordered everything to remain that way, at least for a week, as a perpetual cycle of having his agents across the world for years on end was wearing away at his mentality and stress levels. Just one week of calm, relaxation, and most importantly, no 24 hour worry that someone under his command was being shot at, arrested, indicted, hunted by a terrorist organisation or any other potential issue.

It seemed that everyone was equally weary from living a life separated from their friends, and thus were more than content to squeeze into the largest recreation room to watch a movie together. Reinhardt had chosen the film, and as such there was more interest in the present company than on the feature itself. Hana, Lucio and Torbjörn played a racing game on their hand-held devices. Others played cards. Some talked. Angela, Satya and Fareeha spent the movie trying to dub more interesting lines over those of the generic action movie characters. Hanzo and McCree took up a singular aim chair, watching the film quietly in each other’s arms, tuning in and out of surrounding conversations without participating.

Hanzo wondered if the silence between them was a comfortable one or an awkward. He wondered if this event had have happened two years ago, would they be talking throughout the film too. Maybe they would’ve murmured sweet nothings of conversation. Or they’d both be at ease to join in with the activates surrounding them. He wanted that now. He wanted his social place in Overwatch back, and he wanted his affection with McCree to be natural and without so much guilt. But such fires could not be re-kindled in a matter of days. As the film wore on, Hanzo realised he had paid no attention to it at all. When he looked at McCree he found the cowboy’s eyes focused on the card game nearby. Soon his eyes moved on to the giggling women in the corner. He was content on people watching. And honestly, so was Hanzo.

His eyes caught Jack Morrison in the corner of the room, a book in his hand being ignored as he watched the projected movie instead. Hanzo turned his attention back to the screen, resting his head against McCree’s chest. Hanzo reached his hand up, running his fingers through the few locks of McCree’s hair at the back of his neck which weren’t hidden under his hat. On his hip, he felt the gentlest stroke of fingers in response. Hanzo willed his ever racing mind to relax and appreciate the few hours of serenity this night brought.

Two hours in and Lucio declared something about a mid-night snack. Reinhardt had begun snoring, which alleviated any concern about offending his movie tastes, and several other agents shuffled out with him. On the floor, Satya and the other women had joined the card game, and dominated Winston’s team. They finished their final round before Mei excused herself about something to do with paper work. They each gave various reasons, some leaving alone and others together and eventually everyone shuffled out of the recreation room. Soon Reinhardt’s snoring grew too loud, and Jack stood, giving McCree a curt nod, which was returned, and he left the room. Underneath him, Hanzo felt McCree’s form relax at the soldier’s absence.  
Reinhardt’s snoring and the sounds of the film still didn’t mask the silence between the two of them. Hanzo became acutely aware of his own breathing. He wondered if McCree’s limbs were suffering from his weight on top of him, and he was about to suggest they move to the large couch which was now free, when McCree finally spoke.  
“I needed you there.”

Hanzo remained silent for a moment, before speaking very softly and slowly. “What do you mean? When?”

“When Jack returned.”

Hanzo reached up to McCree’s head, removing the cowboy hat and placing it carefully on the arm of the chair.

“I don’t think nothin’s ever gonna be as difficult for me as that was, n’ you weren’t there.”

“I am sorry,” Hanzo said as his fingers began pushing back McCree’s fringe. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

“I really, really needed you. I wasn’t alone, but it sure felt like it,” McCree said. His voice was wavering, and Hanzo could hear his struggle to keep it collected. If McCree’s body began to tremble, Hanzo wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself together either.

“I was busy. But I am here now. And there is nothing I want more than to listen to your struggles. To offer my sympathy. And if you so wish to hear them, to offer solutions.”

McCree’s eyes fixated on the wall of the projector, glassy and not taking in any of the information sent their way. “I needed you,” he said, weaker this time.

“I am here now. And I am staying,” Hanzo repeated. Reassured.

“There was too much. There is too much. I had to learn to deal with it without you. I am still…”

Hanzo caught sight of McCree’s mechanical hand digging deep into the arm of the chair. “You are speaking without telling me what you wish to say.” Hanzo gave a soft kiss to McCree’s temple. “What is troubling you?”

He watched McCree’s chest rise and fall, a forceful attempt to control his body and contain his emotions. After running a hand across his own face and though his hair, McCree rested his head in his arm, looking far more exhausted than the slow week called for. “Do you think, if Jack’s alive, then there’s a chance that Gabe is too? Or Ana?”

McCree’s face conveyed too many emotions all at once, all of which sent a painful pang directly to Hanzo’s heart. “If I have had to learn anything the hard way, it is that people we once thought gone have a tendency to coming back to haunt us.”

McCree’s eyes flickered, and Hanzo doted on his every action. After a moment, McCree looked directly into Hanzo’s eyes, and his curiosity shifted. “You went back to Hanamura.”

“I did.”

“What did you do there?”

“I followed some leads about Yakuza clans, specifically the Shimada. And then I killed my father.”

The words hung in the air. The movie beat its final score and faded to credits. Reinhardt continued to snore. McCree’s lips sat slightly open. “Shit.”

Hanzo nodded in agreement.

“I thought he was dead years ago?”

“Between you, me and Genji, that made three of us,” Hanzo said.

“Does Genji know now, that you killed him?”

“Yes. I would have asked before doing so, but the situation did not have much opportunity for discussion.”

“You did it out of self-defence?” McCree asked.

Hanzo nodded. “Something along the lines of coming to terms with mistreatment in my youth, and a moral compass regarding men like my father, may have also played a part in the promptness of my decision. But, when it was done I sent Genji a message. Just a photo of his body. Then, I did what I do best. I mourned. Mourned my father and the relationship we once had. Mourned the life I was going to have in Hanamura in the clan, before I abandoned and destroyed my empire. And, I mourned my brother’s death. As in, his state of death and the peace which had come with knowing he was as rest. After seeing my father, and how much I looked like him and spoke like him. After living so many years mourning the past I realised I was ready to start looking forwards. To the world I am in now. I needed to change.”

“Is that why you-” McCree ran a finger along the shaved sides of Hanzo’s head, tickling the short hairs.

“Yes. Although there was an… event between those two events. After I killed my father, I went to Tokyo. And there I got, as you would say, absolutely shit-faced.” Hanzo rarely used informal language, but when he did it always struck a chord of humour and endearment inside McCree. “I found a gay bar, drank until I was blind, and I woke up the next day on a stranger’s couch dressed in drag.” As he spoke a smile grew across McCree’s face in amusement. “The house owners, an older couple, filled me in on my night of absence. Apparently under the influence I can be coerced by a group of queens into putting on quite a show. The couple also knew a sad man when they saw one, and they took me back to their apartment so I could be safe for the night.”

“I don’t reckon you can wield a bow when you’re 99% alcohol, 1% brain?” McCree mused.

“No, but I suspect my hand to hand abilities would still be acceptable. Either way, that morning I woke up with a terrible headache. I had no idea where my clothes were, but somehow I had managed to keep a hold of my satchel. And in all honesty, I was not too content on finding my old equipment. Although a red dress was not quite my look, it held up until I bought some new clothes, changed my hair, changed… everything. I took your advice, cowboy. I learned to accept my life as it is and to finally relinquish the control my past has over me. At least, that is what I am working towards. Living free..”

“Living free, huh?” McCree said. “Now there’s an ideal.”

“I am much more than my heritage. I am more than my murder. I think I finally can see myself how you do. As Hanzo, not just Shimada.”

“That’s quite a story,” McCree said.

“It is only a small and especially vague part of the story,” Hanzo said. “There is much more to tell, even regarding that drunk night alone. I will tell you. But I do not expect forgiveness. I do not want it.”

“Hmm, well alright. I won’t forgive you, but I’ll try my best to understand why you acted like you did.”

“I don’t know how I am to handle so many great people, giving me second chances despite terrible things I have done, and terrible ways I have treated them. I will never come to terms with Genji’s forgiveness. Feel more than free to hang this over my head for as long as you wish.”

A slow grin spread across McCree’s face, and a small fire flickered in his eye. The kindling was lit, and Hanzo was more than eager to fuel it. “Don’t worry darlin’, our next date won’t be a guilt trip, but I am more than curious to see how you look in a red dress.”

“You are in luck. I kept a souvenir.”

 

* * *

 

“You did not have to get upset about it,” Genji said, breaking the silence of the meditation. Hanzo opened his eyes, taking in the view of the bright sunlight and his brother sitting across from him.

“What are you talking about?”  
“On children’s day. On our mission. When you realised you had missed it.”

Hanzo looked out to the ocean. It was roaring and beautiful that day, deep blue and foaming at the shore. “You knew.”

“Yes, I knew.”

“And you did not tell me.”

“I really, really didn’t want to.”

“Fair enough,” Hanzo said.

“Is the memory of me more important than my actual presence, Hanzo?” Genji asked.

Hanzo thought for a moment, feeling his scarf in the wind tug on his hair. “Not anymore. But for so long, making amends for what I did to you was my only motivation. You were right, so long ago. I never did anything of my own volition. So, when I broke from the clan, at a time when I hated myself so much, I needed something to move me. My real family. You,” Hanzo explained. He took the end of the scarf in his hands running his fingers along the stitching he had sewn two years prior. He was glad he had tried to fix it. Although unprofessional, the scarf would have fallen apart by now otherwise. His attempt, no matter how ungraceful, had been successful. “When one thing for over a decade is the only thing which keeps you from… from resigning, remembering you was my only purpose.”

“I don’t want you to _remember_ me, Hanzo. I am here. I am alive and flesh and blood. I want you to forgive yourself, brother. I want you to be happy.”

The words caught Hanzo off guard, but in a moment the words made something click. They filled him with joy like none he had felt in a long, long time. Of course, Genji wanted him to be happy. He was his brother. He wanted Genji to laugh and smile and grow old and to enjoy life. And it tore him apart to see Genji suffer, and it made him feel as though he must do more and try harder. And he had never considered that the feelings were mutual. “That is all you have ever wanted,” he said. “For me to be happy.”

“You rarely did anything for yourself,” Genji said. “Even when we were children.”

A minute of silence passed where both of them reflected on their past, present and future. Hanzo’s mind lingered on his future for a little while longer. It had been doing that more often lately. “How do you feel about McCree?”

“He is my best friend,” Genji said earnestly.

“Mine also,” Hanzo replied.

“I feel like you have an advantage. He likes me a lot, but I think you give him a special kind of attention which gains his favour,” Genji teased.

“Maybe,” Hanzo said, a smile curling on his lips. “Is Zenyatta not your best friend?”

“I did not know it was a competition. You know I hate hierarchies.”

“I have been meaning to ask, for a long time really, how you feel about our relationship? Now that you know it is more than just a fling?”

“It really was something I had to see to believe. Until it happened I imagined you would settle with someone completely different to him, and exactly like you. Some boring, stern, serious, overly formal businessman. Or woman.”

“Hmm,” Hanzo responded.

“In all honesty, I didn’t know shit about your dating preferences. And I still don’t think I have a clue.”

“That makes two of us,” Hanzo said.

“But Jesse and you are better than anything I would've thought. You work well together. And I don't think anyone else would ever be as good for you as he is. He makes you very, very happy. And you make him happy too.”

Hanzo took a slow, deep sigh, letting the salt air chill his insides as the ocean wind did his skin on the outside. “Genji, should I marry him?”

“Hanzo, why do you ask me these questions?”

“Because I value your opinion. You are one of my best friends, and you are McCree’s.”

“No, _you_ are McCree’s. And if you want to get married then yes, you should. Given a bit - a lot - more time, to fix things. I mean, marriage is a useless, flawed institution but that’s beside the point. I guess you should ask yourself, do you want to have a really huge party where you can brag about how much you love your cowboy to all of your friends?”

“Yes, actually I really, really do.”

“Then propose, and spend thousands of dollars as an excuse for talking about how happy you both make each other. You have my blessing.”

“What if… what if after what I did, he does not want to. I know he still likes me – he loves me – and he still wants to fix things. But what if he is hesitant about marriage?”

“Tell you what brother, I will literally ask him about how he feels about the subject, and relay the details of what he says back to you. But I am certain that he wants to marry you too. If you cannot tell, he is a man who loves old fashioned romance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Things aren't remotely solved yet, Hanzo and McCree still have many things to sort out  
> -Also, next chapter is the last one! So exciting.  
> -For those of you who are confused about Hanzo:  
> Last we saw of Hanzo in chapter 5 he was called to an emergency mission in Italy.  
> Following this he was immediately placed on a long-term mission with Genji in the French alps. Due to the remoteness of the location he was unable to have proper reception. On this mission he missed the 5th of May, and it was the first time he had ever missed the anniversary of Genji’s death.  
> When he found out he missed the anniversary it upset him. Similarly upon returning to civilisation he would have received about 15 messages from McCree, which he ignored. He was then reassigned a mission which he failed by letting someone die. In the location of that mission, he found out about a ‘local issue’, which he also somehow screwed up leading to a growing sense of failure.
> 
> Due to his arrangement with Overwatch, when he found out about a ‘civil war’ in Hanamura, yakuza clans fighting in his hometown, he was able to return there and put all his Overwatch duties on halt. Upon returning to Hanamura, he discovered his father was still alive, and having recently come to terms with the trauma his family had put him through, he was able to kill his father. Being in Hanamura had a heavy toll on Hanzo’s mental state.  
> About a year had passed by this point, in which not talking to Jesse had become ‘a habit’, and he did not want to reconnect contact out of the blue over a phone. Similarly his experiences in Hanamura and his failures had sparked a need for a change as well as a need to prove to himself that he was more than a killer, more than a Shimada heir, that he was a good man without McCree, or anyone else’s influence.
> 
> Over the second year he continued to travel the world, helping where he could as well as finding himself and just enjoying life, and learning to let go of his old ways. Throughout this time he stayed in minimal contact with ‘Overwatch’ as in Winston, the leader, and ran minor missions. He also kept in minimal contact with Genji but very rarely. Finally, he decided it was time to return to Overwatch properly and agreed to provide back up for a mission McCree was on alone.
> 
> -Does McCree forgive him? No. But he's understanding.  
> -Does Hanzo forgive himself? No. But he literally wouldn’t be able to change his actions if he did it over again.  
> -Do you still want to kick Hanzo’s ass? Understandable, but he is a man with many flaws, and that is why we love him.


	7. Bridging, Planning and Proving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree and Hanzo try to find something neither wishes was lost.  
> Hanzo shows his gratitude to many people.  
> Many things are proven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter is not my favourite and if it had not already been uploaded I would have rearranged and placed some of these parts in the last chapter to make McCree and Hanzo’s reuniting not seem so rushed. But hey, sometimes you make mistakes and you gotta deal with them afterwards.  
> But yeah I did decide to move the sex scene to this chapter; so its mostly identical with minor changes to fit the new time context.  
> I hope this chapter makes the reconnection feel more natural and healthy as well as provides a smooth transition to how it ends.  
> Enjoy.

“You can’t just fold on every turn,” McCree said, throwing his cards down. The dips in the bed made the chips and cards slide out of order. His legs were beginning to cramp from under him. Hanzo was there. The whole situation was a frustrating mess. “Especially when there’s only two of us playing.”

“I will try it your way then,” Hanzo said, collecting the cards, shuffling and starting the next round. “Wow, my cards are very strong. I will bet much money. And you are meeting that bet, excellent I have fooled you. I was lying my cards are weak. And now that money is yours.”

“Sometimes Hanzo, life does really shitty things, and it just up and ruins your plans.”

“This is not so much life’s fault as my own.”

“Yeah well, your mistakes never really hit you much did they though?”

“And what does that mean Jesse?” Hanzo said and he placed his cards down. He took a moment to prepare for the fact that this was going to become one of the many emotional nights which turned into talking about ‘the issue’.

“It’s only been, what? Six weeks now? And here we are playing cards like old times.”

“I would not say we are playing cards like ‘old times’ more we are playing them like two men running from their issues. What is upsetting you?” Hanzo asked, calmly.

“I don't know. I didn’t really have a plan for this conversation. I just… I guess… I'm pissed that I didn't drag you across rocks like Fareeha wanted me to. I just fell right into your arms when you asked me to. And now… it’s like scolding someone too late. I'm trying to bring up arguments we should have had at the start.”

“This all will take time. You will recall more and more reasons to be mad at me, months, years from now. There is no deadline, this must be an ongoing discussion.”  

“Ongoing discussions to make up for two years of silence.”

“Not to make up for, to try and overcome.”

McCree’s fingers picked at the worn corners of the cards still held in his hands, as he struggled to comprehend his own feelings. “When you were away, what did you think I was feeling? How’d you think I was taking your absence?”

“I… do not know. I guess I thought you would be okay. That while I was struggling with my own issues you would give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Benefit of the doubt don’t mean shit Hanzo. You could have had the best excuses in the world and it wouldn’t make up for what you put me through.”

Hanzo reached out to take McCree’s hand, but the cowboy withdrew it before he could touch.

“I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry I was inconsiderate. I know things are broken, and that we can’t just keep going from where we once were. Things are not the same; they are just some place different now. How do I make it all hurt you less?"

McCree’s eyes stayed on the cards, noting their details and tracing their lines. “I don't know Hanzo. Shouldn’t’ve hurt me in the first place. I’m just sick of arguing about the same things but they gotta get said.”

“They are not arguments when you are correct from the start of the conversation,” Hanzo said. When McCree’s response was minimal, he asked, “Do you want me to leave you be?”

McCree nodded and Hanzo climbed off the bed and stood. “Betraying your trust is not something you should forgive me for. Regardless of my reasons, it was a mistake.”

And with that he left the cowboy, as per his wish this time.

 

* * *

 

McCree shoved a spoonful of Nutella into his mouth as he watched the TV with dead eyes.

“How you doing cowboy?” Fareeha’s voice was soft from behind him, and she climbed over the back of the couch to sit beside him.

“Fantastic,” he said dryly through a mouthful of chocolatey condiment.

“Been a tough couple of weeks for you,” she prompted. He was glad she had chosen a time when no one else was around. It was good planning. It was considerate.

“It’s been a tough life I guess,” he said.

Fareeha looked down into her hands, wringing her fingers. “I know this is the worst possible time to give you more drama, but... mum -Ana- she…”

“I know. She’s still alive.”

“Not just that… she got in contact with Winston. She's thinking of maybe coming back in a few years.” She watched McCree sink further into his serape, trying to melt into the blankets and couch. “Life doesn't really give you a break huh?"

“I’m just...” McCree’s weary eyes looked into the half empty jar of chocolate spread. "I’m tired.”

“You know, the offer to throw him into the ocean is never off the table. The only reason I haven’t already is because I figured you wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s not only him, but he’s a huge part,” McCree began. “Ana, Jack. They just... they’re...” too many emotions failed to conclude to sentences and McCree instead sighed. “I’m just so fucking tired.”

“Have you tried loving less exhausting people, Jesse?”

“Hell, Fareeha you’re just about the only one who hasn’t left me before. Jack and Ana played dead. Hanzo, well he’s made this disaster which I don’t even know what to do about it. Even Genji disappeared to Nepal and I didn’t see him until the recall. And then there’s Gabriel.... if Gabe even came back I don’t know. I… I love him too, but just the thought that he’d pulled the same stunt as Jack and your mother it just...” McCree took some slow deep breaths. “I’m angry. Furious. I hate what each of them have done. But I don’t hate _them_. I don't hate Hanzo and I hate that I don’t hate Hanzo.”

Fareeha reached over and dipped her finger into the Nutella, shoving it in her mouth. After a while of not technically chewing, but consuming, she finally spoke, “How did you do it? Let people back in? Ana’s my mother. My mother! I don't....” tears finally spilt from her and McCree pulled her into his arms. “It’s so hard because... I don't wish she was d- still, gone. But knowing she did what she did...”

“You don't need to forgive her. Fuck, you really shouldn’t. But the shitty thing about love is, you’re gonna want to hear her side of the story. And even though she fucked you over big time, you’re going to sympathize. When I heard Hanzo was hurting, I still cared so much about him and I wanted to comfort him, and maybe that makes me weak. But sometimes the people who hurt us still need us, and you love them, and goddammit you still try and help them.” McCree rubbed at his face, hoping the pressure would help him wrangle his rambling thoughts “The reasons and excuses and apologies they give won't do much. But... well there is no but. You don't owe them shit.”

“Sounds like solid advice from a man who has already begun making out with Hanzo again,” she said. Even through her tears she was more than capable of dishing out judgement.

“Yeah well. Maybe I’m still learning how to deal with this shit too. Need to listen to my own words of advice. Lord knows there ain't no rules of protocol on this sort of thing.”

“I don't want her to... to do that ‘mum thing’. Where she strokes your hair and kisses your cheek after an argument to try and make you her best friend again. I don't want her to even touch me.”

“Then don’t let her. Fareeha, you and I, we miss people very differently,” McCree said. “I’m right mad with Ana too, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m dying to get my hands on one of her big ole hugs.”

“It might be a bit of a cold hug, I’m going to throw her into the sea too.”

“She might be lighter than Hanzo, but I think she's more immovable than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“If we combine our powers, we can vent our anger through the nautical hoisting of assholes,” Fareeha said, holding out her hand. Despite is being spit stained, McCree shook it.

“To taking no shit while still being emotionally destroyed?”

“To trying to figure out all this nonsense,” she said. “We should go punch some things later," she said.

“Couldn't agree more.” After that, the comedy died down quickly and they sat blankly staring at the movie on screen. Of course, they were both entirely distracted reflecting their own situations.

His own negativity and Fareeha’s previous lectures made McCree want to scream at Hanzo anytime his thoughts drifted to his past two years, which was often. But Hanzo was patient. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. He didn’t even ask McCree not to be mad. On those afternoons when McCree cracked and started rambling about all the ways Hanzo had hurt him he listened. Despite how repetitive the complaints had become. And there was only so many times McCree could say ‘you should have called’ and only so many times he could hear ‘I know, and I’m sorry’ before he realized there was no way words would fix things. Only time could prove Hanzo’s commitment.

As for Ana, well that was going to be a nightmare of its own.

“Hey Jesse?” Fareeha’s voice was soft but nothing could make McCree not see her as the strong woman he knew she was.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Hanzo and Ana will have a fun time together in the middle of the ocean?”

“Well, tell you one thing. We have a habit of loving people who are really damn good at floating.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hana, what is the worst thing you have ever done?”

“Glad to have you back, Hanzo,” she said, tapping away at her gaming device. The dings and chimes coming from it taunted him, giving him a window into a world of play and carelessness.

“I’ve been back for two months, at what point do I stop ‘being back’ and start simply being here?”

“When you being here stops being weird,” she said.

“Was my presence ever not strange? I am here because I am the brother who almost killed an honorary member of the organisation. And now I am the man who broke the heart of another honorary member. The man I love is hurting and there is nothing I can do about it.” Hana snapped the lid of her game shut, pivoting her position slightly in the couch to face Hanzo.

“You shouldn’t’ve fucked up,” she said.

“So I have been told.”

“Listen if you think all the shit getting him down right now is because of you, then you’re wrong bucko,” she said. “He wasn’t like, some damsel in distress sitting at the window asking when his husband would return from the war. The whole catastrophe with Jack and the old guys has been tough on him too.” She thought for a moment before turning a wide-eyed look to Hanzo. “You haven’t seen the picture from Christmas.”

“The what?”

Hana pulled out her tablet and began searching through mission files. She paused before opening one. “Confidential,” she said. Hanzo nodded, confirming his promise to remain silent about this to Winston, before she opened up a series of photos. When she found the right one she passed it over to Hanzo.

It was a photo taken in a bar, featuring an uncaring bartender and a wasted McCree, sleeping and drooling on the counter. Hanzo’s frown deepened as he took in the details of dark rings around his lover’s eyes and sheer weariness of his slumped form, which was using his own arm as a pillow. His tattered hat and worn serape dangled from his shoulders. There was no other way to put it, the image was sad.

“You really should ask him about Gabriel Reyes,” Hana said.

 

* * *

 

 

Across the small metal table McCree reached into his dress shirt for a cigar. They were both dressed semi-formal clothes, so that this coffee rendezvous could technically be considered a date.

The silence between them was far from companionable, but they had both become accustomed to their time together requiring significant effort. McCree smoked and his eyes squinted into the horizon, admiring the sun over the water.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said slowly. “What were you up to, while I was away?”

“Work,” he said. It was a cold delivery, but the way their hands remained on the table, fingers interlaced, gave Hanzo stability.

“Any major missions?”

“They’re all major.”

“No, they are not,” Hanzo said. “We were both once assigned to guard a fountain in Hawaii.”

“That was important official business,” McCree said. “That fountain’s a symbol of omnic-human solidarity in Hawaii. Good target for any terrorist to send a message.”

“You spent the entire time in surf shorts, drinking from coconuts.”

“Maybe my terrible tan scared the terrorists away,” he said. More silence passed as McCree took several slow savouring puffs of his cigar.

“Jesse,” Hanzo cautiously began again. “Where were you last Christmas?”

He watched McCree’s eyes flicker, weighing up how much he should tell Hanzo. He took another puff of his cigar, breathing in the smoke to burn away at his weary body, and exhaled it in one large plume. “I was lookin’ for Reyes.”

“In the bottom of a whiskey glass?” Hanzo asked. McCree gave him a long, hard stare. On the back of his hand, Hanzo felt McCree’s fingers tap anxiously. “I saw the photo. You were… you were not okay.”

“I couldn’t find him. And I didn’t want to. But I needed closure. And I still need it. And I still don’t want it. Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life up and leave without saying goodbye? Because it’s happened to me far too many times for me to sit around waitin’ for them to return now.

“People I needed in my life. Mentors who taught me how to shoot and how to survive and how to care about the right causes. People who taught me to fight for society even when it up’n beat me to the ground. People I really, really needed to stay. I thought they were killed. And even then, that was fine. Them being taken by a bullet. I took enough lives to need to pay the price. N’ if the world was sending me people to love, only so it could punish me by tearing them away, then at least that makes some sense.

“But then I found out Ana’s still around, n’ what did that mean? It meant a bullet wasn’t the thing which took her, it was her who stayed away from me. N’ Jack. And Gabe and… Well let’s just say, I really should have seen you leaving from a mile away too. But props to you for not faking your death, I suppose. You just left.”

McCree rescinded his hand as he sat back in his chair, tilting his head down, but his hat failed to mask his few forming tears.

“You are strong, Jesse. Having people hurt you so often and yet here you are still offering your heart and kindness. None of us should have left you. Even knowing you would be fine, it was cruel to push you to breaking point.”

“You had your reasons for leaving,” McCree brushed off. “You all did.”

“You should not comfort me. I do not want you to. This conversation is about you. Every time I try to apologise I am afraid that I am making things about myself. Even now, I am afraid I’m doing just that. But I am trying so hard to become a better man, and I don’t know how. And I don’t know how to fix this.”

“That’s because these things can’t be fixed Hanzo.”

“Are they at least getting better?” he asked.

“Yeah, slowly they are. They always were going to get better.” McCree finally caught Hanzo’s eyes. “Two years of heartache ain’t going to go away, but neither are our feelings. We just gotta keep moving forwards.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well,” Fareeha said, leaning against the balcony.

“Well,” Hanzo answered taking a sip of his tea. The night was cold and the both of them tried to stifle their shivers, in some strange attempt to assert their own strength. The absence of the cowboy, assigned to a mission, meant that this meeting was taking place at its most dangerous time. “How is Satya?”

“She’s good. Working really hard but winning all of the employee excellence awards, and international recognition for her work, as she deserves.”

“I will have to visit her some time, I have always wanted to see India.”

“Well, just don’t go when I have my time off,” she said. “You’d spoil the mood by gossiping behind my back. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Understandable,” Hanzo said. “So, has Jesse convinced you not to fill my bed with scorpions?” Hanzo asked.

“Only because you two apparently sometimes share a bed now,” Fareeha answered. “I still don’t know how you convinced him to forgive you.”

“Not forgive, but to give me a chance,” Hanzo explained. “I had good reasons for what I did, even though what I did was stupid.”

“You can say that again,” she huffed.

“What I did was stupid,” he repeated.

She took a moment to draw her arms to her body, trying to preserve her warmth. “You have been trying really hard to fix things, so I hear.”

“I really have.”

“Do you even know what he was like when you were gone?”

“Not entirely.”

“He worked hard. Real hard. His missions became everything. He took bad results harshly and doubled down on pushing himself. And in his spare time, he was researching Reaper, or helping around the base.

“A man who buries himself in work to escape his feelings,” Hanzo said solemnly.

“Not just burying himself. He became the Jesse who can only find worth when he’s helping someone. The Jesse who forgot that simply being happy is worth in itself. He got better, after a while, but I hate seeing him like that.” She paused for a moment, “Also, he complained about you, _a lot_. He talked my fucking ear off.”

“And what did he say?” Hanzo asked.

Fareeha’s eyes didn’t focus on anything in particular as she thought. “Fuck, you know when suddenly you can’t recall anything… uh… he complained about how he’s such a nice guy, who is there for his friends, and takes good care of them and his boyfriend was really sweet to him and how he liked to plan dates to take him on, and then he went ahead and became a piece of shit. And then he listened to me talk about how there were plenty of actual nice guys who deserve him. And he kept trying to convince me you were a nice guy, but really, he was trying to convince himself.”

“You do not think I deserve him,” Hanzo said.

“You don’t.”

Hanzo pressed his hands to his face, and breathed deeply into them. “I am just going to ask it, would you feel better if I let you punch me?”

“No, I would feel better if Jesse did.”

“I am particularly not fond domestic violence,” Hanzo said grimly.

Fareeha hissed between her teeth. “Yeah, sorry. That was insensitive.”

“Jesse has certainly given me some choice words, if that is satisfactory.”

“It’s… I don’t know. I don’t quite trust you. I know that you care about him but…” Fareeha turned to him, and lifted her head. “Okay, Hanzo. On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love Jesse?”

“Is eleven an acceptable answer?”

“It’s the correct one,” she said.

“Okay.”

“So, what are you actually doing to fix things?” she asked.

“We are talking.”

“And?”

Hanzo swallowed a lump in his throat. “I am apologising a lot?”

“Hanzo, you are in a relationship with my boy. And you only stay in that relationship if you’re making him happy. Are you making him happy?”

“Of… of course I am.”

“How can you be so certain?” Fareeha demanded. Hanzo caught on. This was an interrogation. This was a test.

“Because he seeks me out when he is scared or sad. And he changes his schedule to spend time with me, even if we do nothing but share silence. And we still watch the sunset together and he still tells me stories and wants to hear mine. I make him laugh and he smiles when he makes me laugh. And I know I make him happy because he gave me a chance to be in his life. A chance I will not take for granted.”

Fareeha took a moment to score his response. “Satya once told me, that you care deeply about your friends, but tend to keep your feelings to yourself. Hanzo, you got to tell Jesse. All the time. Tell him how special he is. Tell him how much he deserves. Even if you think telling him how great he is, will mean one day he’ll wake up and realise he deserves better than you, you got to keep on telling him. He deserves all the happiness in the world.”

“I will tell him. Very literally. Often,” Hanzo promised. “I want him to be happy too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Something troubling you, sweetheart?”

Hanzo could only hear the cowboy, as his face was buried into the couch he was lying on. “I spent all day working on banking,” he said, voice half muffled by the pillows. “Keeping track of the funds from your criminal empire is arduous work.”

“I’d imagine,” McCree said. “Didn’t think a little math got to you so much though?”

“It isn’t the math part which is the issue,” he said. “It’s the trying to make sure my donations to Overwatch does not get the organisation into trouble. And trying to ensure my money elsewhere is not funding people trafficking without my knowledge. Or that money trails do not lead to my immediate arrest.” He finally pushed his body up to face McCree, who was sitting on the coffee table across from the couch, with an old worn guitar in his lap. “Where did that come from?”

“Swung by an old supply cache of mine when I was in America last week,” McCree said. “Dug up some treasures.” He plucked at his t-shirt which Hanzo realised was very faded concert shirt, which was twenty years outdated and far too tight on McCree.

“Do you still know how to play?”

“I’m willing to give it a spin,” he said. “But don’t judge me.”

He changed his pose allowing the guitar to be held properly and gave it a strum. Hanzo watched silently as McCree spent a few minutes tuning it as best he could by ear, and then plucking a few chords. Muscle and auditory memory worked together until McCree found a tune and then the music came seamlessly.

Soon a song passed his lips, sung softer than Hanzo had ever heard him speak. _They’re playing our song._ The lyrics were unfamiliar, but Hanzo listened intently - _And the seasons,  
Will change us new, but you're the best I've known. _ He noted the way McCree’s brow creased as he watched his own fingers dance along the neck, and the way his eyes slipped shut at the chorus – _Blooming up from the ground, three rounds and a sound, like whispering you know me –_ To be memorised in full, the song must have meant a lot to McCree. _I could not give up on you._ McCree caught his eyes on the final words, and a smile slipped past his lips as he sung them to Hanzo. _You know me, you know me._ His eyes fell back to the guitar as he played the last few chords. When he was done he waited for the stings to finish vibrating the last of their music of their own accord, until the air fell completely silent.

“Loving you was not a mistake,” McCree said.

And those words enraptured Hanzo, and he knew he would remember them forever. That they would ground him and guide him. How was he even supposed to follow that up?

“That song was beautiful,” Hanzo said.

McCree’s eyes traced Hanzo’s features. He detailed the way the dark circles around Hanzo’s eyes highlighted the glint of light reflecting in them. The way they watched him back, tired yet attentive. Ever vigilant. Trained to catch all danger. And a body working around the clock to fix mistakes he was responsible for, as well as to complete tasks he should never have been ordained.

“How are things in Hanamura?”

“They are absolute chaos,” Hanzo said, visibly deflating. “And I do not know how to fix it. I have trained my whole life to deal with this… I am the only man who can really put a stop to the clan but… it’s all falling apart.” Hanzo’s head fell into his hands, where he firmly rubbed at his face, trying to keep the overwhelming exhaustion at bay.

“Listen, Hanzo. There ain’t nobody in the world’s got nothin’ fully figured out. Not those of us who were groomed from birth to lead one straight cut path in life. Not those of us born in the dust fightin’ his whole life and taking on any job he needed in order to get by. Not those of us who went to study artic climate and woke up years later with all her friends dead. Not those of us who were caught in the middle of a revolution on the fucking moon! Hanzo, you ain’t gotta have nothin’ sorted out. All these issues you have don’t always have solutions, and you’re gonna kill yourself trying to fix them overnight. All I ask is that you maybe ask for my advice, or even my help, cause you can’t go at this alone.”

“Okay then Jesse, what is your advice?”

“Forget the Shimadas. Forget the whole family business. At least for a while. Yeah, they’ll regroup and grow a little tougher, but you’re too weak to fight them now. Give it a few years, we’ll plan it out. And as an organisation, with all of Overwatch, we’ll deal with them together. They’ve been holding you from your neck your whole life and it’s time to cut their strangle loose.”

“You make it sound so easy Jesse. But I miss it,” he said. He took a breath to help steel himself. “I miss the family business, and I miss hunting my family and feeling like I was making amends for all their transgressions. I miss the streets of my childhood… I can never return to Hanamura. And you cannot either, they will use you against me.”

“I didn’t really want to go back there,” McCree said. “Heard it was the place my boyfriend was tortured until he tried to kill my best friend.” Hanzo winced at the words, but McCree said them so lightly. Morbid humour most likely picked up from Genji, or perhaps Hanzo himself.

“Despite the many unsavoury memories, it was still my home I cannot let go of it so easily.”

“Then keep trying. It’s cliché, but sometimes the things worth fighting for are tough. But you gotta do it smart, and don’t do it alone. We’ll figure this out. We’ll get there Hanzo.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo stood alone on the rooftop. It was the most secluded place in the entire base he knew of, and to his knowledge, only those who called themselves Shimada were actually capable of reaching it. It had been a little difficult scaling the wall in his leather boots, rather than the metal combat ones he had grown accustomed to, but in his youth he had climbed the walls of Hanamura in geta on multiple occasions, so this was really no challenge in comparison.

It was late afternoon, and he was planning to have the entire night to resolve and recover from whatever storm of emotions were sure to arise after this encounter. Waiting alone, he wondered if one night could even resolve the jackhammering his heartbeat was creating from pure anticipation.

After some of the longest minutes of his life, he heard metallic fingers and toes tap against the building, before Genji had pulled himself up to join him on the rooftop.

“Good evening Hanzo,” he greeted, barely short of breath and with a little too much spring in his voice for the mood Hanzo wanted to set.

“Genji,” Hanzo nodded to him. The cyborg watched patiently, hands on his hips. “I wanted to speak with you.”

“I know. In fact, that is literally all I know about this meeting,” Genji said. The light behind Genji’s visor stared back at Hanzo. A neon green slit between two plates of aluminium, and a body standing taller than he ever thought it would. A painful reminder of the best news Hanzo had ever received.

“Could you please remove your visor?”

Hanzo caught the way Genji’s body stilled, finally realising that this was not a time for games. Slowly, Genji reached up and removed the plate, holding it in his hand and revealing hazel eyes, so similar to Hanzo’s. The only familiar thing remaining of his brother’s physicality, amidst scars of torn flesh and shattered memories.

“Genji I wanted to… I…” Hanzo took a deep breath, then another, determined to maintain eye contact with his brother. He wanted to do this right, no matter how much Genji’s gaze made the claws of anxiety scrape harder at his skin. He knew the whole encounter was going to be overwhelming, but he hadn’t expected the literal, physical hurt he now felt in his gut. “Jesse said to just speak and to not think too much,” he said, mostly to motivate himself. “Jesse also said, that one of the ways I can start… learning to love myself, is to stop saying sorry when I actually mean to say thank you. So, I want to say thank you. As well as say sorry.”

“Sorry, for what?” Genji’s brows creased together, lost.

“Sorry will never be enough, I am aware. But it needs to be said.”

“Sorry for… oh… Oh!” his eyes widened as his jaw snapped shut, realising that Hanzo had a lot he was about to say, and it was best not to interrupt him.

Hanzo momentarily missed the familiar tug of his golden scarf whipping in the wind, but this was a moment in which he had never been more certain of his need to be stripped of his traditional clothing. He had changed so much since then, and it seemed right that his appearance match. “Thank you Genji for giving me another chance. Thank you for letting me back into your life. And for inviting me to join Overwatch, giving me this life which has brought me so much happiness. Thank you for when we… when we were boys… for doing your best to keep me safe from the sins of our family.” Hanzo’s hands began wiping at his tears, making his mission to maintain eye contact with Genji one performed through pure determination in spite of the welling of his vision. “Thank you for recovering from what I did to you… thank you for living, oh… fuck… _thank you,_ for living, Genji. That is the one thing which has mattered most to me.” Hanzo’s shoulders lurched as he heaved a breath of air into his lungs, and for a moment he expected his body to collapse, but instead two hands gripped him by the shoulders and held him in place.

“Hanzo,” Genji said softly, encouraging.

Hanzo took Genji’s shoulders in his hands, and they stood face to face, as equals. He watched as Genji blinked two tears down his own cheeks. “Genji, I am sorry. And I will never stop trying to make up for what I did to you. No matter your forgiveness, no matter who deserves what. I am grateful for you being in my life, and for you being my brother.”

“It is okay, Hanzo,” Genji said. “A little brother watches out for his big brother, regardless of how many mistakes he makes.”

The brothers shared a tear stained laugh, before Genji pulled Hanzo into a hug. Metal or no, this was his brother, and Hanzo held on tightly. He felt Genji plant a kiss to his cheek, before resting his head on his shoulder and there they both stayed. The roar of the ocean accompanied by the purr of dragons under his skin, dancing, balanced and celebrating peace.

It was a while before they finally separated, and when they did they sat down at the edge of the rooftop to watch the last of the sunset.

“When you said you wanted to speak, I thought you really did have an interesting taste in location,” Genji said. “When you eventually decide to propose to McCree, you had better do it at a lower altitude, otherwise he might literally fall for you.”

“Such cruel humour, it is clear that you are the Genji I once knew.”

“Also, heartfelt confessions aside, I will never forgive you if you do not make me the best man at your wedding.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo sat alone on a balcony of the two-story motel. It was the afternoon, and in a few hours the team would be moving out on their mission; a medium-risk escort which brought with it a pre-mission anxiety, yet enough security to spend the afternoon reading lazily to fill the time.

Hanzo’s newer battle gear was noticeably more comfortable, especially in regards to wearing normal shoes over metal boots. Easier for lounging and getting lost in a narrative. Soon, McCree stepped out onto the balcony, and came to sit on Hanzo’s lap, resting his head into his shoulder. It weighed down on Hanzo heavier than he remembered it, and he wondered if maybe this time McCree really depended on the support he could give, more than he ever had before. Hanzo wrapped his arm around McCree’s waist holding him in place. He was in his battle attire, the same since the day they had met, but his heavy chest plate was not on yet, which was good weight-wise for both the chair and Hanzo’s bones.

“Can you read it to me?” McCree said, looking at the page but too lazy to follow the words himself. “Just from where you’re at’s fine.”

Hanzo cleared his throat and began reading out loud. His rumbling voice carried into the warm, still air, sharing a slow narrative to pass the time. In his arms, McCree slipped in and out of short naps, and when Hanzo’s voice grew too tired he drifted off too. The afternoon was peaceful, and they were content.

 

* * *

 

 

“Go fish,” Fareeha said.

Hanzo picked up another card and considered his hand.

“Do you have a seven?” she asked.

He reluctantly handed his card over.

“A five?”

He handed her another one.

“An ace?”

“Fish,” he said.

“Damn,” he said, taking another card.

“This game is terrible,” Hanzo said.

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing,” she said. She looked at the cards before them. Her lead was visually significant. “You’re not letting me win, are you?”

“No, you are just used to playing with Satya. She is exceptionally good with cards,” Hanzo said. “I will say though, I prefer this game to poker.”

“I hear you’re really bad at bluffing,” she said.

“I cannot do it for the life of me,” he said.

“How’s that work, when you’re an assassin and an ex-mafia boss?”

“I can lie. I can act. When there is a mission to complete, and a proper objective. I can fill those roles. I just… I struggle when it comes to cards. Lying to friends over menial things, it is different.”

“Satya can’t bluff either.”

“Yes. We once tried to play together, hoping our mutual inability would create a judgement-free match. It… did not work. We are both too easily embarrassed, and honest for our own good.”

“She is brutally honest,” Fareeha said.

“Some people find it rude,” Hanzo said, reflecting upon his conversations with his friend. He had talked to her occasionally since his return, a long-distance communication. Sometimes they spoke for hours, other times they just sent images of cute pets or satisfying geometry to each other. It was a niche shared interest. They never called. “I find it refreshing.”

Fareeha’s eyes lit up as he said that, and they shared a look of understanding. “I know! Bless her heart, she can be cold, but it’s always deserved.”

“Hmm.” A smile spread across Hanzo’s face and he found himself able to recall more and more of his interactions with Satya. “I like when our conversations accidently bring up one of her special interests.”

Fareeha clapped her hands as she smiled. “I have so many facts about very specific things.”

“Do you see her often?” Hanzo asked.

“Only twice a year. I’m trying to convince her to work for Overwatch, but I don’t want to pressure her, you know?” she said.

“She loves being an architech.”

“See that’s the thing. She could be an architech here. We could give her the supplies and the technology she needs. And even better she would have full creative freedom.”

“She would not have other architechs to collaborate with, however.”

“We have clever people on base. And new recruits every few months. Maybe she could hire an apprentice? I just… I really miss her being on base,” Fareeha said.

“I miss having someone who appreciated decent tea,” Hanzo said. “We helped each other figure out this ‘communal living’ situation Overwatch seems to mandate.” He watched Fareeha stretch comfortably across the couch, kicking their cards into a mess. “And even now, she is helping me make friends.”

 

* * *

 

 

McCree woke first, remaining on his back so as to not disturb the archer who had all but Koala-beared himself to his body. A sliver of sunlight made its way up the bedroom wall for the hour he remained drifting in and out of half wakefulness, before Hanzo stirred and rolled off of him. McCree rolled on top of Hanzo, planting kisses to his cheeks to gently wake the archer. Eventually his hazel eyes slipped open, immediately softening at the sight of McCree looming over him, and lifting a hand out of the blanket to cup his face.

 “Mornin’,” McCree said.

“Good morning Jesse,” Hanzo said slowly, as if each word were a prayer.

“You wanna grab some breakfast?” McCree asked.

“Soon,” Hanzo said, sitting up. His hands drew McCree’s face towards his own again and they shared a slow kiss. “You have morning breath, but I wish to make love to you.” McCree felt all semblance of grogginess snap out of his body instantly. “If you’d let me.”

“Hell yeah, I got gum,” McCree said throwing himself off the bed and hobbling over to his jeans on the floor.

“In your pants?” Hanzo asked, taking the stick offered to him.

“Hana’s bubble gum stash ran out, and she was complainin’ about the minty stuff and I was showing her you can still make decent bubbles with it if you try,” McCree said, kneeling beside the bed and unwrapping his own gum with his one hand. They chewed for several minutes, while Hanzo played with McCree’s hair, trying to tame the sleep wild locks. The task soon devolved into a shoulder massage, which McCree was more than happy to indulge in.

“Got another one of your stories?” McCree said.

Hanzo popped his gum again before shoving it to the corner of his mouth so he could speak clearly.

“When I stopped through Denmark, I found an old friend. He was a young yakuza member when we first met, about twenty years ago. We had ventured to several clubs together in our youth before work had made us part ways. I found him in a bakery, where he worked. He had left the criminal life behind, and moved to Europe. He still has this immaculate tattoo spanning his back.” Hanzo ran his finger up McCree’s back stopping to tickle his neck. “It’s a beautiful image of koi in a river, which while fish are not my favourite of imagery, at this point I was just satisfied that they were not near my feet.”

McCree pivoted to shoot him a confused look.

“That is another story,” Hanzo said, taking McCree’s shoulders to turn him back around. “I bought some of his pastries and he insisted we catch up to try and relive some of our youth. So, I agreed and we drank quite a considerable amount. He said he liked my new haircut and my bridge piecing, and he encouraged me to do more with him. He got another tattoo and I got my tongue pierced. It is more agreeable than the other piercings, you can just suck on ice cubes for a day or two and not feel a thing as it heals.”

“The other piercings? I’ve only noticed you ear and your nose. That’s… all there is right?”

Hanzo learnt forwards, resting his lips against the shell of his ear. “Do you want me to get another?” he whispered.

“Don’t let me stop you,” McCree said.

“Did you have somewhere in mind?” he asked, running his fingers up McCree’s shoulders and cupping either side of his neck to encompass the tender skin. He watched a shiver run up McCree’s spine before the cowboy cracked.

“Ah fuck it,” he said, reaching into his mouth and pulling out the gum piece. He threw it into the bin before turning and pulling Hanzo down into a kiss. Hanzo considered attempting to pry his own piece of gum into McCree’s mouth, but he deemed it a bad idea likely to end up with one of them choking and spoiling the mood. He pulled from the kiss to throw his own gum away, before taking McCree’s shoulders and pulling him onto the bed, lying down on the mattress as the bearded cowboy kissed at his collar bones. His mouth trailed up Hanzo’s neck and back to his mouth, sharing a minty fresh kiss which they could taste on each other’s tongues.

Kissing soon became more, until McCree was face first in his pillow and Hanzo was sliding inside of him. Hanzo’s tattooed arm was under him, gripping at his chest where it was crushed between his body and the mattress. He realised how damn much he had missed Hanzo’s heavy form on his, his smooth skin and strong hands encompassing his body and fucking him with all the strength and energy of a trained fighter.

McCree’s skin soon began to sweat, and his body became far too hot, but he loved it and the temperature helped add to the pleasure of the whole situation. Hanzo peppered his back with kisses as he fucked him, and occasionally his fringe hair would tickle his back.

Under him, Hanzo’s arm felt like it was a million degrees, and McCree lifted himself onto his elbows slightly to look down and see that yes, there was a reason it was now burning hot.

“Uh Hanzo?”

“Hmm?” Hanzo responded, clearly carried away in his own task.

“Hanzo,” McCree said more firmly. At the hint of uncertainty in his lover’s voice, Hanzo stopped immediately, pulling out and keeping a few inches distance from their bodies.

“Jesse, did I hurt you?” he was halfway through asking before looking at his arm, which had the hint of glowing dragon scales disappearing back into the surface of his skin. “Oh.”

McCree rolled over and sat up, taking Hanzo’s arm in his hands as it lost illumination. “It hasn’t done that before, I don’t think?” McCree said, running his fingers along the skin. Where his fingers brushed, a soft glow followed briefly after. “I know it’s been a while since we last got dirty, but I’d think I’d remember this.”

“No. Usually I… keep them contained. I got carried away. I apologise,” Hanzo said. He used his other hand to massage McCree’s shoulder, not wanting to cease in his goal to please the cowboy even during this intermission.

“Are they dangerous?” McCree asked, trying to coax the dragons to the surface again unsure if Hanzo was working against him.

“Not dangerous, but painful for others. Again, I am sorry they hurt you.”

“No darlin… I think I like it.”

Hanzo caught his eye and McCree saw something lustful flicker over them.

“It feels good,” Hanzo explained. “To let them run ravage and not need to withhold them.”

McCree swallowed a lump in his throat, but he realised that the coils of dragons were once again drifting along Hanzo’s arm. Like snakes disappearing in and out of sand, they swam across his skin, still aroused and eager to play.

“I didn’t get this far in life without being daring,” McCree said, pressing his lips to Hanzo’s collarbone, just out of reach of his tattoo. Hanzo took a steady breath, hands coming up into McCree’s hair to guide his head as he kissed up Hanzo’s neck and to his mouth again. “I’m willing to try it.” With this permission, Hanzo grabbed at McCree’s ass, pulling him onto his lap so they could begin fucking again. They continued kissing although McCree’s lips soon grew lazy as his body was filled. On his back he felt both of Hanzo’s arms hold him, one of them growing burning hot against his skin.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” Hanzo said. McCree reassured him with a kiss, which Hanzo turned into a bite. As he bit at McCree’s lips, sharp pains along his back soon overwhelmed the pain of Hanzo’s teeth. They felt like mild electric shocks, shooting into his skin at random, and it only took McCree a short while to connect them to distinct grunts of pleasure from Hanzo.

McCree’s breathing became heavy and deep, as heat and pain and pleasure built from different parts of his body. Hanzo’s timing was impeccable, and his non-tattooed hand began stroking McCree as the dragons on his back began burning fiercely. Soon the sensations of pain and pleasure overwhelmed him and drew him to orgasm. His mind went somewhat blank as he came. He was certain Hanzo also came soon after, as they shared panted breaths and the lightening shocks across his skin died down. Slowly the heat around him began to subside and Hanzo took hold of his shoulders to gently guide his body down onto the bed where they could both lie together and hold each other and recover. Hanzo’s hands remained at his shoulders, rubbing at his skin.

“Are you okay Jesse?” he asked softly. When McCree opened his eyes he was glad to see Hanzo’s face was still red and short of breath. More recovered than McCree, but not perfectly together yet.

“You do that often?” McCree asked, the haze of pre-breakfast hunger and the afterglow of sex giving his thoughts terrible prioritisation.

“No, not often. It is more of an emotion based reaction, as well as a physical one. There has been few I have felt as strongly for as you,” Hanzo said. “If any.”

“That’s real sweet darlin’,” McCree said. “Although I don’t like inflated compliments.”

“It is a good thing I never bluff then,” Hanzo said, and they shared a smile. McCree reached out and ran a finger along the tattoo, which was dormant now. Hanzo’s fingers reached to McCree’s chest and he finally noticed the scale-shaped indents which had been left behind on his own skin. He assumed, hoped, they would go away in a matter of minutes, like the pressure lines left by skinny jeans.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said, running his fingers over the tired skin with admiration. “For letting me back into your life.”

“The door was never closed, Hanzo.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo looked into waters which were so clear and still that he could see the bottom of the ocean. Unlike the roaring, crashing waves of Gibraltar where jagged rocks lay beneath their surface, this water was warm and serene, and the soft sand at its bed made it more than inviting. The sun blanketed Hanzo’s bare skin, and he had missed the way summertime meant that one could be outside with only swimming shorts on.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hana said, catching Hanzo gazing off the end of the pier.

“I have never seen water like this before,” Hanzo said. He looked up to see her wearing giant heart-shaped shades and popping gum as pink as her bikini. He also noticed her own bunny rabbit logo on the bikini top.

“I wish we could be stationed in more holiday destinations. Last month I was in Russia for a week. I thought I would never feel my toes again.”

“Hmm.” Hanzo wondered when the others would be joining them on the pier, but before he could turn Hana grabbed his shoulders firmly, directing his attention back to her.

“You didn’t take a beach trip on your fuck-off year?” she prompted.

“I do not like swimming much,” Hanzo admitted.

“Oh yeah, your weird fish thing.”

“I have not yet decided if the clear waters are better or worse, because on one hand, I can see them coming, but on the other ignorance is bli-AAHHH!” Hanzo’s words turned into a shriek as hands were suddenly taking a hold of all of his limbs. In a moment of disorientation, he was airborne before his body smacked into the warm water. He held his breath in time, and through the ripples of the surface of the water he saw Hana, McCree and Fareeha look down on him, laughing without any of the sound reaching his ears. And they were all smiling. And while Hanzo was in shock, the sight was just as beautiful as any he had caught all day.

In one pull of his arms he resurfaced and coughed air into his lungs.

“Told you I’d convince him, Hanzo,” Fareeha said.

“How’s the water darlin’?” McCree asked. His face was sun-kissed with freckles, and red blush from laughing. The sun behind him made him radiate from above Hanzo, like an angel – one who had just schemed with his friends to toss him into the ocean – but an angel nonetheless.

“Your threats would have lost much of their weight if I knew the ocean you were planning was one in paradise,” Hanzo said. “The water is nice, you should join me.”

McCree took a running leap, and for a photographic moment Hanzo watched him soar in the air and pull his body into a cannonball, the rebound of which splashed far enough to hit Hana.

Hanzo took a hold of McCree’s shoulders and McCree’s right arm pulled him in close. And together they managed to easily float.

\--

“Fareeha, I need your help,” Hanzo said. Although the two often struggled to find common ground, they had managed to become friends over the past year. Hanzo was glad, as she was a vital source of some very vital information.

“What about?”

“You and Jesse have known each other for a long time, and I was wondering if he had… ever talked about his dream proposal?”

He braced for her reaction. First it was a slow frown, then a deeper one. “Not specifically, no.”

“I want to do this right,” Hanzo said. “I want to propose and I want him to love it. I want to make him happy, Fareeha.”

“Hmm… Let me think. He… he always wanted a man who was like him. Someone who’s really out there and proud and not afraid to boast to everyone in a ten-mile radius about how great their relationship would be. Someone who wasn’t afraid to embarrass himself. I… I don’t suppose you know how to serenade someone?”

“I do not sing,” Hanzo said.

“Well, what I’m saying is, don’t be shy about it. Let it be over the top. Let it be all heart felt confessions and honesty. He used to – still does – tell stories of you doing affectionate things, and we didn’t believe him. He’d insist that you were sweet, beneath your mask of grumpy stern man. He wants everyone to know why he loves you. So, everyone has to be there.”

“An audience,” Hanzo said. He pushed the growing anxiety from his mind, for the time being. If it’s what Jesse wanted, it’s what he would do, he resolved. “And… what about Ana? Should I ask for her opinion in all of this?”

Fareeha huffed a laugh. “If you’re absent from Jesse’s life for as long as she is, you don’t get say in what he does. And any proposal advice she gives would just be to prank you. She’s untrustworthy.”

“Noted.” Hanzo said. “And what about you? What is your opinion about all of this?”

She crossed her arms, giving a soft smile. “I support you. I really didn’t think Jesse would find someone who would actually care as much as you do. Someone who respects him and looks past his jokes to notice when he’s struggling. You’re good for him. And you’re good in my books.”

“I am glad to hear so,” Hanzo said.

“That being said, if you hurt him again, you _will_ pay.”

“I am glad to hear that too,” Hanzo said. “It means he has good friends.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had set by the time Hanzo and McCree reached the shooting range. While the suits set the tone, Hanzo was ready to go all out in formality to the point of opening the squeaky metal industrial door, to allow McCree to enter first.

“Oh my stars, Hanzo…” McCree’s voice was awestruck, his drawl strong, as expected for a man in a tuxedo and cowboy hat. Hanzo watched McCree inspect the shooting range, which was dimly lit with dozens of candles. In the middle of the room was a small dining table with dinner waiting. Hanzo already felt himself blush as McCree’s compliments poured out. “All this for me? This is amazin’ darlin’. How long did this take?”

“I had some help,” Hanzo admitted, as he pulled out McCree’s chair.

“This is ‘bout the nicest thing anyone’s ever done. Actually, I’ll raise. This _is_ the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Hanzo sat across from McCree, reaching for the wine bottle to fill both their glasses.

“You deserve nothing less,” he said. They raised their glasses.

“To spoiling me,” McCree said.

“To perseverance, and commitment,” Hanzo said. With a clink, the toast was complete and they took a drink.

Hanzo was glad the food was still warm. And that the shooting range was not cold. And that it had not caught on fire on the walk to retrieve McCree. And that the chairs had not broken when sat on. Or no natural disasters had interfered. He was glad that nothing had gone wrong, so far, one minute into his date.

“So Jesse, what should we talk about?”

“Hmm, well I still got some fun tales from when you were missing.”

“I am glad to hear there were fond memories. You have mostly told me about the struggles you’ve had.”

A melancholy crossed McCree’s face before he took a mouthful of pasta. That’s just sort of how their lives went. Unpleasant memories were an unavoidable subject, but they moved on. “Wasn’t all good, wasn’t all bad.”

“You have good friends,” Hanzo said. “Very loyal to you. I regret that I was not there, but I am sure they helped you out?”

“I know you want me to talk about Reaper, but,” a smile crossed McCree’s face. “Gotta tell you about how Fareeha offered to shoot a rocket launcher into your bedroom. She thought if we destroyed your fine silks you’d materialise out of thin air to complain. But I talked her out of it.”

“Thank you for that,” Hanzo said.

“N’ then Jack said he’d break your tea set and blame it on his poor vision, which was temptin’ but again I said no. You don’t have much in the way of worldly possessions, so don’t want you going without.”

“I have you,” Hanzo said. “That is all I really need.” McCree grinned at him and kicked his foot under the table.

“Yeah you do. But shooting range and possessions reminds me, I never asked you where your new bow comes from. The bone bow. Fareeha and I call it the Bow-ne behind your back.”

“That is the worst play on words,” Hanzo said. “But it was my father’s bow. I took it after I… after I killed him. It is one of the few bows strong enough to channel the dragons through. And it means a lot to my family.”

“Your family?” McCree said.

“It means a lot to me.”

“Well, you’ve talked a lot about the shittier parts of your time gone. Tell me one of your fun stories of adventure.”

“Hmm,” Hanzo pushed his last piece of pasta around his bowl as he tried to select a highlight from a list of wild memories. “I tried to overcome my fear of fish in the worst possible way.”

McCree leant forwards on his elbows, folding his hands under his chin. “I still can’t believe you’re afraid of ‘em. Like, all of ‘em?”

“To an extent,” Hanzo said defensively. “I just do not like the way they move. It is so unlike our own. And the fact they can only breathe in an environment that would down our lungs to suffocation… It is an irrational fear I know. To add insult to injury, children’s day is signified with the flying of fish kites.”

“So, did you manage to overcome your fear?”

“Not even remotely. I think I just reinforced it. I went to one of those spas, where they use fish to give pedicures. I was determined to wait the whole experience out. My hands went stiff from clinging to my chair, and I think I added several wrinkles to my brow.”

“You really thought letting fish eat your skin was the best way to overcome your fear of them?”

“It was foolish, but I survived the ordeal. I will never, ever do it again, but I survived nonetheless.”

“I’m proud of you Hanzo,” McCree said earnestly. “I’m real proud of you.”

The appraisal and eye contact was difficult, so instead Hanzo took McCree’s hand on the table, watching their fingers gently stroke against each other’s skin.

“I am too,” Hanzo said. “Proud of myself. You have taught me so much about taking care of myself, and growing to love who I am. I want to repay that. I know I can’t but… I want to make up for everything. I owe you so much… and I did before I went and hurt you. But, I am staying,” Hanzo said.

“I know you are.”

“Forever.”

Hanzo’s eyes drifted to the mechanical arm on the other side of the table. He reached out and ran his fingers over the metal plating.

“You never told me how you got this,” Hanzo said.

“It ain’t really a fun tale,” McCree said.

“Will you? Some day?” Hanzo asked. The cowboy huffed a slow breath before downing the last few mouthfuls of his wine.

“It was before the recall, when I was taking odd jobs. Made a shot I shouldn’t’ve and crossed the wrong fella. Encounter him down a little ways the track, and then I didn’t make a shot I should’a and suffered the consequences. His shotgun demolished the arm. Didn’t help I was in the middle of the Arizona desert, so it took over a day to reach a hospital and by that point,” McCree shrugged, the fingers of his flesh and blood hand ran along the rim of his wine glass.

“That sounds terrible,” Hanzo said. He mentally berated himself for allowing such morbid topics to flow into the night’s conversation.

“So, what about you? Got any battle scars with a story or two?” McCree asked.

“Nothing major. The tattoo is not a battle scar, but I would say it is the mark with the most interesting story.”

“That tale about the _Two Great Dragon Brothers_?” McCree asked. Hanzo raised a peaked brow. “Genji told me way back when I first saw his dragon.”

“She is beautiful,” Hanzo said, picturing the shimmering emerald form of his brother’s guardian.

“Mighty fine,” McCree said, and with a sheepish smile added, “Although yours are a little more fun to play with.”

Hanzo hid his blush behind his wine glass as he tried to think of another topic.

“Before I forget, I got you a gift,” McCree said, reaching into his suit’s shirt pocket. He pulled out a small slip of paper and passed it to Hanzo. It contained a crudely drawn stick figure with a single strand fringe and moustache. Most interestingly, the stick figure has a left pectoral. The entire page was bordered with love hearts. “Thought I’d give your little fella a friend.”

“This is ridiculous.” Hanzo smiled down at the drawing, thinking of his own cowboy caricature. “I had drawn that picture out of boredom and loneliness, with the intent to throw it away. To think I grew attached to it is embarrassing.”

“Hey, we ain’t logical creatures. We with speak with our hearts and act on our instincts. So you add a brain which is too clever for its own good into the mix and you’re left feeling bad all the time. I think the picture was real sweet. You don’t gotta be embarrassed for being cute.”

Hanzo heaved a sigh, carefully folding the drawing and placing it in his front pocket. “We could put them on the kitchen fridge. Maybe everyone else will add their own.”

“Community art project, I like the sound of that,” McCree said.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside the training room the air was freezing cold due to the late hour, and the ocean water consuming all warmth from the air. They huddled together, as despite wearing suits, they were still chilled to their bones.

“Reckon we should head into base and have us some hot chocolates,” McCree suggested.

“Maybe later, but first there is something I wish to show you,” Hanzo said, tugging McCree’s arm in the opposite direction of the base’s entrance.

“Sure,” McCree said, following Hanzo’s lead up a gravelly path which wound up along the cliffside. They walked in mostly silence, as their dinner had been filled with conversations and stories enough. The silence let Hanzo’s anxiety grow with each step they took. He tried to resolve his voice of worry. The people in his life were dependable and trustworthy. He was making the right decision. And he had nothing to fear.

Of course, anxiety was rarely a rational thing.

Right as McCree’s body started shivering, they caught sight of a warm light further along the path. McCree turned to Hanzo, catching Hanzo’s knowing smirk.

“You have something planned, don’t’cha?” McCree said.

“This whole night has been planned,” Hanzo said. “Although, I cannot take all of the credit.”

As they approached the light, murmurs grew until they were clearly voices of conversation and McCree realised that the light belonged to a bonfire. Soon they were upon a gathering of most of the Overwatch agents, a party of marshmallows and casual conversation.

“Hey boys,” Fareeha said. Satya waved hello from beside her, exchanging a polite smile. McCree and Hanzo sat down on the ground, warming their frozen fingers over the fire. Their suits starkly contrasted the casual clothes of the other agents, but Overwatch was a place where people’s attire was rarely questioned.

Across the clearing Lena was strumming at McCree’s old guitar, completely unaware of how to actually play it. Regardless, she, Genji and Hana sung an old folk song over the mismatched string music, somehow eliciting a melody. When Lena caught sight of McCree she bounded over and shoved the guitar in his hands.

“You gotta show me how this thing works. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play, but never had the time.”

“You, out of time? There’s funny some irony,” McCree said, talking the guitar and sitting up on his knees to position it. “If you want me to teach you right now, we’re going to be here all night. But I can show you the four chords which’ll let you play almost anything.”

Lena sat down in front of him, and listened to his explanation, eagerly noting the positions of his fingers. Hanzo tried to pay attention too. He really did. But the light of the fire danced across McCree’s worn skin, casting it in gold. And Hanzo found himself lost in the constellation of freckles and the trails of wrinkles leading to familiar eyes which had kept him company time and time again. The man who had put aside his own pain to help Hanzo, and the man who Hanzo was more than happy to do the same for. This final part of the night was designed so that Hanzo had the choice in this moment, to simply let the night carry on, or to go ahead with his ultimate goal. Fareeha’s eyes kept darting to Hanzo, not wanting to miss anything. And Hanzo decided that he too, did not want to miss anything. Never again.

“Thanks Jesse, I’ll give them a go!” Lena sprang up, guitar in hand and headed back to her original spot.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said, standing to his feet and holding out his hand. “Come with me.”

McCree stood and wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s. Together they walked the short distance away from the bonfire circle, to stand near the edge of the cliff face. The ocean was a vast expanse of black void, reflecting the stars across its turbulent waters. It was an enchanting sight, making the universe seem far larger than anyone dared to picture it.

Hanzo closed his eyes, inhaling frozen air into his body.

He could do this.

“Jesse, you speak of anniversaries, of important events, keeping time as a marker of things which matter. I may not remember the dates, but I do remember the details. When it matters, I remember. I remember when you first challenged me in that very shooting range we just dined in, and how you showed off your skills to me.”

“I’m not always bluffing, sweetheart,” McCree said, sending him a quick wink, before looking back out to the ocean.

“I remember… the reflections of fireworks in your eyes the night we first kissed. I remember the smell of blood in our first battle, and how afraid you were thinking it was mine. I remember when I saw you bleeding, and the fear I felt. I remember it exactly because it never went away.” Hanzo watched McCree’s face intently. The cold wind and storm of emotions made Hanzo’s eyes water, and he tried his best to keep his tears in. At least until the end. “And I remember the nights you spent in my room, when I dropped my poker face, and you comforted me though all of my worries.”

McCree’s eyes dart behind them, as their friends shuffle around to get a full view of the two men standing alone.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said firmly. He took McCree’s chin gently in his hand, guiding his face to ensure he was giving Hanzo his undivided attention. “I remember the night after our first official date. After we made love and what you said to me before falling asleep.”

In the beat of silence, remembrance crossed McCree’s face.

“You said you were going to marry me one day,” Hanzo said.

“I know what I said.”

“Those words stayed with me, clearer than any other memory,” Hanzo said.

“I didn’t just say them, I meant them – Mean them!” McCree said defensively.

“I know Jesse.”

“Things got a little messy for a bit but-”

“-I stayed awake that _entire_ night Jesse-”

“-I just haven’t gotten around to it yet-” McCree babbled onward.

Hanzo watched him without blinking, his eyebrows raised and focused on one goal. He couldn’t fight the smile spreading on his face. “I remember exactly how I felt-”

"-I’ll do it someday soon darlin’ I swear-” McCree’s eyes were full of concern he needn’t have.

“Jesse.”

“Don't worry I’ll prove it, Hanzo. I’m a man o’ my word, I’ll propose to you somed-”

“JESSE!” Hanzo took a rattling breath, easing out his nerves and frustration. “What do you think I am trying to do, right now?"

McCree’s body froze, and his lips parted in mild shock. “I… you… what?” He blinked several times as he finally caught on. He looked back at the staring faces of their Overwatch compatriots, quietly waiting.

“Fareeha said you wanted a man who was not afraid to embarrass himself, speaking of how much he loves you. Well, there is nothing embarrassing about saying that I love you. Loving you is something that I am the most proud of. And I want nothing more than to wear that accomplishment on my sleeve. Or, my finger I suppose. So, if you’d allow, there is something I wish to ask.”

As Hanzo sank to one knee, McCree’s face shone with the most brilliant smile Hanzo had ever seen cross it.

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo said, pushing past the skitters of nerves running rampant through his body. “There are very few I would consider to be a part of my family, but you have found a place in my heart like no other-”

Over his words he heard McCree whisper “Yes.”

Hanzo smiled and continued, determined to finish what he started. “-by caring for me. For teaching me how to care for myself. By being-”

“Yes.”

“-the most patient man – _Or so I thought_ – I am so much stronger than I would otherwise be without you. Because I let you into my life, and I want you to stay there, as my best friend, and more.”

“Yes,” McCree said, his voice growing in volume.

Hanzo squeezed McCree’s hand tightly, holding it as a lifeline. “Will you marry me?”

McCree fell to his knees engulfing Hanzo in his arms. “Yes Hanzo. My darlin’, my sunshine, my sweetheart.” Hanzo was crushed in McCree’s loving hold, feeling his chest vibrate with sweet affectionate words. On his back, he felt McCree’s fingers dig into his shirt. If he didn’t feel like a puddle of a man, whose emotions were shaking his very foundations, he would say the grip was too tight; but instead McCree’s presence was all that was holding him together. He reached up and his fingers curled into McCree’s hair, and he realised that this was good. This was, perfect. The relief that he had succeeded, that he had been able to ask the question, and that McCree had said yes, finally washed over him. Hanzo began to cry.

McCree rocked them both gently as the members of Overwatch encircled them, giggling and conserving amongst themselves at the display.

In McCree’s ear Hanzo whispered, “Shit. I forgot to pull out the ring.”

“Proposal was still perfect,” McCree said.

“I am glad,” Hanzo said. He finally sat back, allowing the world to see his tear wracked face. Behind McCree, he caught Genji staring. His brother slowly held out his hands. “No,” Hanzo said sternly to him. Genji smiled a cruel grin. “I specifically asked you not to.” Genji’s hands were brought together in a distinct clap. Then they parted and combined again, and again and soon the gathered agents joined in a chorus of applause. McCree sat back, and looked around him to watch the team of just over a dozen Overwatch members. Embarrassment overtook Hanzo and he hid his face into his fiancé’s shoulder once again with a muffled, “Fuck you Genji.”

“Look at my honey,” McCree said, taking Hanzo’s cheeks and pushing him back into exposure. “Spoils me with the sweetest of proposals.”

“It took a lot of effort. But anything for you,” Hanzo said. He was glad to notice a few tears traveling  down McCree’s face too.

“My perfect huckleberry!”

“Please release my face,” Hanzo said. McCree kissed him sloppily on the mouth before obliging. Hanzo wiped away the spit before reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“I love him so much,” McCree declared to the crowd, who had by this point, mostly returned to their own attentions.

“Good,” Genji said, still looking down at them. “Because if he mentions you and his love making in front of me again, I’m going to disown him and you’ll be the only family he’s got.”

McCree caught Fareeha’s snorted laugh at that.

Hanzo pulled the ring from the box, a gold and silver band with three small discrete diamonds. Hanzo’s face was a dishevelled mess, and he constantly sniffled to suck up the wetness from his nose.

He peered down at McCree’s lap, looking between the two hands. “Um…” he paused, staring. McCree held out his right hand making the decision for him. The ring slipped on and McCree leant forwards kissing the freshest tears from each of Hanzo’s cheeks before they could travel all the way down his face.

“I love you, Hanzo,” McCree whispered, a private message to his lover alone.

“I love you too,” Hanzo said. He placed a hand on McCree’s chest where he could feel McCree’s heart hammering away.

“Y’chose the perfect day to propose, too,” McCree said.

“Let me guess, another anniversary?” Hanzo said resting his head against McCree’s chest again, and tucking his legs up to his body to make himself small so McCree could hold him fully.

“Our first morning coffee together.”

“That is ridiculous,” Hanzo said. “Although, soon we will get to celebrate a real anniversary together.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Drinks!” McCree declared, his grin as wide as his face would allow. Accompanying the newly engaged couple, Angela, Satya, Fareeha and Genji had followed them into the Overwatch kitchen. McCree plundered the alcohol cabinet and began pouring drinks. Everyone else remained somewhat calm, the party contained almost inside of the cowboy.

Fareeha caught McCree’s eye, breaking from her conversation with Satya. “Half of that date was my idea Jesse, don’t you forget that,” she said sternly but with a hint of playfulness.

“My darlin’ confided in you?” McCree asked.

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice softened for a moment. “It’s how I know he really cares.”

Hanzo and Genji took an offered glass each and sat at the stools along the bench. Genji noticed Hanzo’s blunted nails tapping on the glass, and he placed his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, rubbing up and down to try and soothe him.

McCree and the girls laughed far too loudly behind them, and Hanzo let his eyes fall closed trying to process the overstimulation of the whole ordeal.

“I am very proud of you, Hanzo,” Genji said.

Hanzo caught his eyes and they exchange a soft smile.

“I never thought my life would turn out like this,” Hanzo mused, swirling the untouched alcohol in his glass.

“Engaged to a cowboy?”

“Happy,” Hanzo said.

“I had always hoped you would marry for love, for yourself. Until very recently, I thought that was only a very foolish dream to have.”

“You spent a lot of time thinking about my happiness,” Hanzo said.

Two large arms appear around Genji as McCree pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re gonna be my baby brother-in-law,” he said swaying the cyborg on his seat.

“Being a Shimada brother is a dangerous lifestyle Jesse,” Genji teased. Hanzo swatted Genji’s arm. “Jesse Shimada, now that’s something I never thought I would hear.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” Genji said.

A grin pulled at Hanzo’s lips.

“Don’t you even think it.”

“Hanzo McCree,” he said.

“No.” Genji snapped. “Absolutely not.”

“McCree Hanzo?” Hanzo tried again.

“The Japanese convention does not work, McCree is basically his given name.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” McCree asked.

“No,” the brothers both said in unison.

“Shall I remain Shimada Hanzo for the rest of my days?” Hanzo said with a false woe.

“Well, now you’re _Mister_ Shimada Hanzo, if that is any consolation,” Genji said. “And if you dare try to change it to McCree, I will rescind my blessing.” He downed the rest of his drink before taking Hanzo’s glass. “Goodnight boys, and don’t forget to include me in the wedding planning.”

McCree released Genji and he headed over to the women. “Ladies,” he said, extending both of his arms. They all latch on to various limbs and take their leave, giggling and yawning, ready to retire for the night.

Finally, Hanzo and McCree were alone. They held each other’s gaze but did not speak; too many words yet nothing concise coming to mind. Instead McCree wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s back, and with no further communication, they made their way back to Hanzo’s room. Hanzo felt McCree’s fingers rub at his arm through the fabric of his suit sleeve, the action so affectionate yet simple. For some reason, it burns at his skin, and his emotions are running on hyperdrive at everything McCree does, and he feels tears burn at his cheeks again by the time they reach the door and enter the room.

“I will go freshen up,” Hanzo said, nodding to the bathroom door.

“Righto,” McCree said, sitting down at the bed to remove his shoes begin loosening his formal clothes.

Hanzo closed the bathroom door behind him and pressed his back against it, releasing a deep breath as quietly as he could. He decided to not make a single sound, although he wasn’t sure why. He took the ribbon from his hair, gaze purposefully avoiding the mirror above the sink. He removed his shoes and jacket and tie. Then, he let himself simply breath, grounding himself and tracing the patterns in the tiles. Trying to stop his head from swimming.

Finally, he looked at his reflection face to face. His cheeks were still red, and felt grimy from tears. He ran the sink hot for a minute before scrubbing at his skin. He blew his nose and brushed his hair, breathing the last of his shaky breaths silently from his body. Then he washed and moisturised his hands, appreciating the feeling of being refreshed, and at ease.

He emerged from the bathroom and on the bed he saw McCree, shirt hanging open and splayed across the bed with his arm hanging in the air. Admiring the ring. Hanzo’s heart tugged strongly and his eyes began to water again, undoing all of his hard work.

“This darn bout the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” McCree said. “How’d you get the right size?”

“You have a prosthetic hand, I simply stole it when you weren’t using it,” Hanzo said. “I took it to the ring stores and made it try them all on, Cinderella style. The jewellers gave me odd looks, carrying a hand around with me,” Hanzo sat down on the edge of the bed and McCree dropped his arm down, squinting his eyes at Hanzo. Hanzo took the hand in his gently, entwining their fingers and running his thumb over the ring.

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“Yes Jesse, I am,” Hanzo said. “I used a measuring tape on the hand.”

“That’s real sweet of you darlin’,” McCree said. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s shoulders. “This whole night’s been real sweet. Just about swept me off my feet in every way except literal.”

“We can save that for the wedding,” Hanzo said, leaning into McCree’s chest. He listened to the sound of McCree’s heartbeat, and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. A man who had seen so much pain and suffering in the world, yet was still held beautiful and caring heart. And he was someone who had chosen Hanzo, a murderer, assassin, criminal, cruel and cold. And yet, Hanzo, despite all of those damning things he was, had also romanced him, and gone through with a proposal to see him smile and blush and to make him down right happy. Hanzo was proud. And he began to cry again.

“Sweet pea, I thought you was right out of tears by now,” McCree chuckled.

“This has been the best and more terrifying night of my life,” Hanzo said. “I will cry.”

“Terrifying?” McCree asked. “Honey, I’ve wanted to be yours since I first saw you walk through those doors to Gibraltar, redemption and determination in your heart, ain’t no doubt in that.”

Hanzo sat up, wiping his tears with the back of his wrist. “I have been yours,” he said, taking McCree’s cheeks into his hands. “Ever since you first leant me a piece of that big loving heart of yours.” He pulled McCree in for a kiss, and McCree deepened it. He held onto McCree’s face tightly, almost afraid to separate as he was certain McCree’s lips were the only thing keeping him together in that moment. Luckily, when they parted McCree’s hands wrapped held onto his shoulders strong enough to ground him.

“I’m ‘bout the luckiest man in the whole wide world,” McCree said.

“I know exactly how you feel.”

They re-join for a kiss again, and Hanzo climbed over McCree, guiding him down into the mattress. His fingers start at McCree’s waist and find their way around his back and gripping at his shoulders, crushed between the weight of his fiancé and the mattress. He pressed a knee between McCree’s crotch and let his body sink into McCree’s. McCree’s hands grip at his back holding him close and anchoring them together. They continue to kiss, although Hanzo’s breathing struggled as more tears find their way out.

“Let’s leave the love making to the morning, yeah?” McCree asked.

“Yes,” Hanzo agreed, letting his eyes slip shut as exhaustion finally caught up to him.

“Hey Hanzo, m’ really glad we’re getting married,” McCree said.

“As am I, Mister Jesse Shimada.”

“…It don’t quite work does it.”

“Shall we keep our own names?”

“Yeah, I reckon if I just refer to you as my fiancé all the time, people’ll get the idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

An Egyptian woman wearing a hijab and a smile of decades of wisdom stood at the doors to the watchpoint Gibraltar. From a catwalk on high, a cowboy and an archer looked down at her, their sharpshooting eyes taking in every detail the sight had to offer.

“She came back,” McCree said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I suppose now we will have some competition, to see who really is the best shot ‘round these parts’,” Hanzo said, teasing the accent. His husband tried to smile, but reservation took control of his face.

Hanzo put is tea down on the metal floor of the catwalk, freeing his hand so he could reach around McCree and interlace it with the fingers of his far hand. This way their wedding rings pressed together. Two solid bands of commitment.

“Are you okay?” Hanzo asked.

“It’s Ana,” McCree said. “It’s Ana Fucking Amari. I ain’t ever gonna be prepared for this.”

“You will get used to it. I believe by this point in our lives, we are both professionals at un-burying ghosts, and learning to live with years of mourning things which were not truly lost.”

The waves of the watchpoint roared in their endless cycle, and the steam of hot drinks drifted into the air. A familiar sequence of events, in an ever-changing world.

McCree had fallen into silence, whereas too many words came to Hanzo, all of which meant ‘I love you,’ in their own direct and indirect words. Down below Fareeha nodded to her mother, and her mother nodded back, before they both disappeared into the building.

“I will be here for you, as you have been for me all these years, Jesse. We will get you through this, together.”

“That’s a big promise to make,” McCree said.

“You should know by now Jesse McCree, I never bluff.”

McCree leant over, planting a kiss to Hanzo’s cheek.

“I know darlin’,” he said. His head leaned into the solid form of Hanzo’s shoulder. Strong, supportive and present. A familiar space he trusted to rest. “Don’t worry, you ain’t got nothing left to prove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has like, my favourite Hanzo Genji interaction I’ve ever written.  
> Unlike with most of the things I write, this story actually wasn’t written to a particular song. The song McCree sings is 3 Rounds and a Sound by Blind Pilot because it was the first song I could think of that heavily featured a guitar.  
> If you want you can find me on tumblr: apocahipster  
> Anyway, thanks for reading.  
> I love you.


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